


The Hyacinth Girl

by Cliotheproclaimer, Nike_SGA, twtd



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Notting Hill Fusion, F/F, Fluff, Quite a lot of angst in fact, SLIGHTLY LESS FLUFF THAN PREVIOUSLY INDICATED, rom com
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2020-08-18 18:43:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cliotheproclaimer/pseuds/Cliotheproclaimer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nike_SGA/pseuds/Nike_SGA, https://archiveofourown.org/users/twtd/pseuds/twtd
Summary: A very ordinary girl bumps into another girl and takes her home. It happens all the time. But she is no ordinary girl. She is Pippa Pentangle, the most famous movie star in the world. And when they get together, everyone has something to say.But when two worlds collide, and the news is bad, and getting worse, how does an ordinary girl keep the most famous girl in the world?Recognition. It was a frisson of recognition.What else would you feel with Pippa Pentangle, only one of the biggest movie stars in the world, walked into your shop? Pippa was so famous even Hecate had heard of her, despite her hatred for today's blockbusters. And it seemed like everything Pippa did turned into a blockbuster. She plastered the sides of the buses that regularly passed by Hecate's shop and adverts for her next movie hung from billboards throughout the city. Even Hecate couldn't escape them. She was pretty sure Pippa was about to star in one of those insipid Marvel movies that Dimity seemed to love so much. Captain Britain or something ridiculous like that. And here she was standing in the middle of Hecate's shop.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Someone prompted A Notting Hill AU for the Hicsqueak fest. So have a Notting Hill AU. 
> 
> No idea what the updating schedule will look like but I've got at least a few chapters written. Hopefully, the new job doesn't sap all of my energy!

Hecate Hardbroom lived alone. 

At least, she wished she lived alone. In truth, her cramped house, a narrow, three-story thing with a roof terrace, shoved between two slightly larger buildings, housed both her and her roommate; Dimity. She didn't exactly know why she put up with Dimity's presence. She didn't need the money, but it seemed like Dimity had just moved in without her permission and never left, because if she had ever asked, Hecate certainly would have said no.

But there Dimity was, sleeping in her spare room and cluttering everything up with more sports equipment than you would find at your local Decathlon. As Hecate walked down the stairs toward the door, she tapped away a slightly deflated football, moved a precariously leaning cricket bat, and pointedly ignored a pair of grass-stained cleats. Why Dimity couldn't keep it all _in her room_ Hecate had never found out, but every time Hecate had wrangled it away, it reappeared the next day. 

It was the tennis racket that did her in, catching around her foot as she opened the door and tripping her. She stumbled out onto the sidewalk. Grumbling, she righted herself, kicked the racket inside where it lay just beyond the threshold, and half slammed the door behind herself. Maybe Dimity would trip over it and break her leg, Hecate thought darkly as she locked the door. Dimity's quick reflexes would probably save her. Probably. 

Hecate took a deep breath and headed off in the direction of her bookshop. Maybe today she would actually sell something. If she could get there without cracking her head open.

The neighborhood was stereotypical of London; Victorian townhouses lined the streets, broken up by the odd walled garden. When she had first moved to the area, it had been a haven for artists, bohemians, and the occasional hipster, but recently, gentrification had seeped in and the artists had been pushed out. Housing prices were ridiculous, even for London, and Hecate definitely would not be able to afford her house, picked entirely because it was close to the bookshop if she had to buy it today. The small shops were being aggressively pushed out by large chains and Hecate frequently fretted for the future when everything was a Starbucks or a Waitrose or God forbid a Waterstones. She, however, was determined not to sell out. How long that determination could hold out remained to be seen. She missed the artists. The rest of London could have the hipsters. 

As she walked down the sidewalk, she glanced up at the cloudless sky. It had been raining for days, the streets still puddled with water, but the weather had decided to clear up for the moment. It nearly brought a smile to Hecate's lips, but it took something more than a ray of sunshine to inspire that sort of mirth. She nodded as she passed some of the people she saw regularly and got a few nods in return. 

Charles, the stock boy at the shop across the way raised an arm to wave at her and she simply shook her head. Hecate wasn't sure if he was even old enough to have a job, but he waved to her every morning, even though he had never stepped foot in her shop. She imagined he would probably faint if she ever waved back. Best not to chance it then. She'd seen Mildred talking to him rather a lot recently, but she didn't care to speculate about the life of her employee outside of work. She certainly wouldn't be mentioning it to Mildred – or worse yet, asking her about it. 

Hecate pursed her lips as she stepped around the small lake that formed just outside the door to her bookshop. She had complained about it regularly since she had first opened the shop, but no one seemed inclined to do much to fix the problem. Bureaucracy. She hated bureaucracy. 

She took a deep breath as she came to a stop outside the bookshop and pulled her keys out of a pocket in her skirt. Time to start another day.

* * *

The smell of old books greeted Hecate as she walked into the shop and flipped the sign from closed to open. She made her way to the break room, turning on light switches as she went and looking around to make sure everything remained in the same place as it was the night before when she had closed up. Miraculously, nothing had tumbled over in the night. 

Before Mildred had started working for her, the entire shop had been an exercise in order; Mildred's shelving system left something to be desired. It was amazing how much one teenager could change something over the course of a summer. Everything was in vaguely the right place, but where before the books were lined up like pupils in a boarding school, now they spilled off of the shelves and on to nearby tables, or they balanced precariously on their sides on the edges of the bookcases. Hecate was constantly in fear that she would bump into something and the entire shop would come crashing down onto her head. But no matter how she lectured Mildred, and how often Mildred promised to do better, things inevitably returned to their current state. 

She never thought of firing Mildred though, and thus the shop continued to devolve into chaos with every passing day. She would set it to rights once Mildred went off to university in the autumn. For now, she would enjoy the peace that she got in the few hours before Mildred showed for her shift. 

Hecate made her way into the back room and once there, she filled the electric kettle with water and turned it on. Despite enjoying a cup of tea before leaving her house that morning she found herself already needing another one. After all, there was no such thing as too much tea. 

Pouring herself a cup, Hecate realized the usual steam that rose from the top of the mug wasn't there. Frowning, she tested the water and found it as tepid as it was when it first came out of the tap. She sighed and turned her attention to the kettle. As she was examining it, the bell over the door tinkled. She called out, "I'll be right with you," before setting down the kettle and turning toward the break room door. 

"No worries," she heard a woman answer her, but she quickly wiped her hands and strode out into the shop anyway.

As she emerged from between the bookcases, Hecate saw a woman wearing jeans and a pale pink blouse meandering through the shop, pulling out a book here and there, flipping them between her hands, and looking at the spines before pushing them back into place. Hecate stopped a polite distance away. 

"Yes, can I help you?" Hecate looked at the potential customer expectantly. Her profile looked vaguely familiar, something about the turn of her nose tugged at Hecate's memory. 

"Oh," the woman had a book pulled off the shelf and was looking down at a collection of poems by Eliot if Hecate wasn't mistaken. She reluctantly pulled her eyes away from the text and up toward Hecate. "I'm just browsing, really." 

Their eyes met and Hecate felt a frisson of energy shoot down her spine. The woman's presence somehow suddenly filled the shop. She radiated an energy Hecate had never quite felt before, one she didn't know how to describe but that she was instantly caught up in. Even though her eyes were covered by sunglasses, Hecate could feel the way she was looking at her, wary, guarded. Hecate's eyes went wide. 

Recognition. It was a frisson of recognition. 

What else would you feel with Pippa Pentangle, only one of the biggest movie stars in the world, walked into your shop? Pippa was so famous even Hecate had heard of her, despite her hatred for today's blockbusters. And it seemed like everything Pippa did turned into a blockbuster. She plastered the sides of the buses that regularly passed by Hecate's shop and adverts for her next movie hung from billboards throughout the city. Even Hecate couldn't escape them. She was pretty sure Pippa was about to star in one of those insipid Marvel movies that Dimity seemed to love so much. Captain Britain or something ridiculous like that. And here she was standing in the middle of Hecate's shop. 

"That's…" Hecate wrung her hands together in an uncharacteristic moment of self-consciousness. "Of course." She retreated behind the counter, giving herself some space to take a breath and collect herself. For the most part, customers in her shop would get a glance and a pursing of her lips and that was it. No one would ever call her overly solicitous. There was no use in starting now, even if a movie star suddenly appeared in front of her. "Let me know if there's, er… anything you need." She stumbled through the unfamiliar words.

Pippa eyes over her sunglasses sparkled now, as if she and Hecate were sharing some sort of joke, but if they were, only Pippa knew the punchline. Hecate reflexively scowled back. 

"I really came in for some light reading, but something tells me you don't carry any of the latest best sellers." Pippa took a cursory look around the shop as if she already knew she wouldn't find what she was looking for. 

"I could show you some Kipling," Hecate said dryly. There was a certain sort of grandfather that came in looking for _Captains Courageous_ or _The Jungle Book_ in hopes of inspiring their grandsons, and it was always grand_sons_, into manlier pursuits than video games, so she kept them in stock even though she thought them quite ridiculous.

Pippa laughed and it filled the space between them. "I think I'll pass if that's alright. Not quite my taste." 

"And Eliot is?" Hecate nodded toward the book still in Pippa's hands: _The Waste Land and Other Poems_, Faber and Faber, 1940, a pink cover with the title in blue ink, almost a bargain at £75. 

"April is the cruelest month," Pippa said as she opened the book and ran her index finger down the table of contents before she flipped to the titular poem then a few pages past. She continued: 

"The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf  
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind  
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.  
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song." 

Pippa looked up from her recitation. "That's always been my favorite bit." 

Hecate shook herself out of the trance Pippa had put her in. "I prefer Prufrock." Her voice had more of an edge than she intended. For some reason, Pippa's smile grew. 

"So you like Eliot, too." Pippa closed the book and stepped closer to the counter. Hecate blushed in a quite unacceptable way. 

"I…" With Pippa suddenly so close, Hecate's mind went blank. She blinked at Pippa's continued smile. It seemed even she wasn't immune to the aura that surrounded the movie star. She stepped back and bumped into the bookshelf that ran behind the counter. A few small knick-knacks rattled and brought her back to herself. She sniffed. "He isn't terrible." 

"Well, it isn't light reading, but I think I'll take it anyway." Pippa put the book down on the counter and slid it toward Hecate. Hecate stared down at her hands. They looked soft, with short nails, but there was something strong about them. 

Hecate turned her gaze to the book as though it were a foreign object and she wasn't sure what to do with it. She picked it up and held it in her hands before Pippa's movement toward her purse reminded Hecate of her role in the interaction. She rang up the book and slid it into a protective plastic sleeve then placed it in a canvas bag with the logo of the shop on it. A quick exchange of bills later and Hecate passed the bag to Pippa. She ignored the shiver that raced through her when she accidentally brushed her fingers against Pippa's. 

The bell above the door to the shop jangled and forcefully pulled out of her daze. She looked over to the door. A customer. Two in one day. Would wonders never cease? Hecate could see the moment he figured out who Pippa was. The way he mustered up his courage happened in slow motion, but Pippa's eyes shuttered instantly. 

"I… could I have an autograph?" the man stammered. Hecate winced. 

"Of course." Pippa no longer sounded like the woman who had just recited poetry in a little bookshop in an obscure corner of London. She sounded fake, artificial, strained, but Hecate was sure the man wouldn't notice. She wasn't sure she would have noticed had she not just heard Pippa talking about something she had a genuine interest in. 

Pippa looked at her imploringly as the man patted down his pockets. It took Hecate a second to realize she was wordlessly asking for a pen.

"Right," Hecate said as she handed one over. 

Pippa signed her name on a scrap of paper and handed it back to the man, the smile still firmly in place. 

"Uhm… I… " He awkwardly looked for something else to say, blocking the exit as he did so. 

"Right," Pippa said as she started to squeeze past him. "If you'll just…" 

The man reluctantly shifted to the side and Pippa escaped to the door. She looked back over her shoulder as she opened it and met Hecate's eyes once again. If Hecate detected a bit of hesitancy there, she told herself firmly, it was clearly just her imagination. Both Hecate and the man watched Pippa walk away through the window at the front of the shop. 

Hecate recovered herself first though. She turned to glare at the man. "Is there something I can do for you?" 

"What?" 

"Are you looking for something in particular?" Hecate managed. 

"Oh. No." He turned abruptly toward the nearest shelf. 

With Pippa's departure, it felt as if a bubble had burst and Hecate regained her faculties fully. God, she had acted like a star-struck fool. What had she been thinking? She shook her head then rubbed her forehead. She needed tea.

Damned broken kettle. Damned customers. 

There were a few things around the shop she needed to take care of before she could pop out to the closest cafe and get a cup. Buying a new kettle would have to wait until after she closed the shop for the day. With a great sigh and another shake of her head, Hecate turned toward her chores. 

The bell sounded once again and Hecate turned toward it in frustration. "What is it now?" But it was only Mildred. 

"You'll never believe it, but I swear I just saw Pippa Pentangle on the street." Mildred looked back toward the door. "That's mental, right?" 

"It is unlikely." Hecate didn't feel like it was a lie, exactly. It _was_ unlikely that Pippa would choose her store to wander into on a Thursday morning in July. 

"Right." Mildred nodded and tried to put on her serious, 'at work' face. It never lasted long. 

Hecate sighed. "I am going out to get some tea." Each word was clipped. 

"I'll hold down the fort." Mildred smiled enthusiastically and threw her a jaunty salute. 

Hecate fought the urge to roll her eyes as she stepped out of the bookshop and into the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are amazing!!! They inspire me to keep writing!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @twtd11


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate and Pippa run into each other once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliotheproclaimer is an amazing beta and is making this fic so much better than it is!

Hecate sat in the local cafe for as long as she could possibly be away from the shop. She found after her eventful morning, she needed a bit of time without Mildred's chattering to collect herself. She'd gotten through about half a cup before she started to get antsy. She didn't _really_ think Mildred would burn the place down, but the possibility lurked in the back of her mind nonetheless. 

She stood from the table and stepped out of the front of the cafe, turning to make her way back to the bookshop. She walked quickly down the street and around the corner, giving a glance over to her house to make sure Dimity wasn't actually lying in the street with a broken leg. 

The feeling of a body colliding with her own sent a shock through her. Warm, but not hot, tea splashed up and over them both and Hecate reeled back. 

"Oh my!" The voice was surprised and familiar. 

"What–" Hecate cut herself off. 

Hecate wiped her hands down her front and tried to brush the tea away, but that only made the situation worse. She looked up to see who she had collided with only to come face to face with Pippa Pentangle for the second time that day. 

"I'm so sorry." Pippa's eyes were wide with remorse. 

Pippa reached for her only to stop herself a moment before they touched. "Oh, God…" Pippa stammered. "I… I'm so sorry." She offered up the napkin in her hand. Hecate snatched them from her and ineffectively tried to pat down her shirt. She glared. 

"It's a good thing I live just over there," Hecate huffed. 

"Do you?" Pippa brightened. "Well, that's lucky. Come on, then." Pippa grabbed Hecate's wrist and tugged her toward the blue door. "We can both get cleaned up." 

Hecate had no choice but to stumble after Pippa. Once they reached her door, she pulled out her keys and, still grumbling, unlocked it. Pippa marched in, Hecate, bewildered, trailing in her wake. 

Luckily, the tennis racket was no longer laying across the doorway, but the rest of Dimity's sports equipment was still strewn around everywhere. Pippa seemed not to notice though. Or if she did, she didn't say anything. 

"Well, go on. Get upstairs and put on something dry." Pippa nodded toward the stairs and gave Hecate a little push. Hecate started to climb the stairs without thought. Once she was in her room, she unbuttoned her sodden shirt and threw it toward her hamper. A quick pop into the bathroom had her wiping her damp skin with a towel, and she was back at her closet looking for something acceptable to change into. As she looked, she noticed that somehow her anger had bled away and just left her confused. 

She pulled out a blouse and pulled it onto her shoulders. The high collar and long sleeves weren't exactly seasonable, but she saw no sense in bowing to the whims of fashion. She knew what she liked and that was what she wore. Besides, Dimity had told her the forest green set off her eyes. 

She shook herself. Why did she care about her eyes? Shaking her head, she finished up the buttons and looked down at her skirt. The tea had gotten on to it too. With a sigh, she grabbed a pair of high waisted trousers. It only took her a moment to change and now she needed to go downstairs and face Pippa once again. It didn't feel long enough.

Pippa Pentangle was in her house. How had that even happened? One minute she was enjoying a nice cup of tea and the next a movie star was _in her house_. How was she supposed to react to that? 

She shook her head. Pippa was just a person. Just a normal person covered in cold tea. She should offer her the use of her bathroom and let her change. 

Hecate descended the stairs resolved to do just that, but as she reached the landing, Pippa turned toward her from where she had been looking at a picture on the wall. 

Hecate felt the air rush from her lungs. The pink, tea-stained shirt was gone, replaced by something white and sparkly. Not exactly daytime attire, but better than what she was wearing before. 

Hecate couldn't stop herself from staring. 

"Can I offer you some… er… tea?" Hecate brought her eyes up to Pippa's as she asked, going through the pleasantries. She hoped she didn't seem as awkward as she felt. She wasn't used to having to entertain guests. 

Asking a woman recently covered in tea if she wanted tea was a new low for her though. 

"No." A bit of a smile tugged at Pippa's lips despite Hecate's faux pas. 

"Of course not." Hecate wrung her hands together. 

"Thank you, though." Pippa shook her head. "I should be going." She finally dropped her eyes from Hecate's and turned back to the front door. 

"Of course." Hecate walked her down the hallway and put a hand on the front latch. “Don’t trip on the cricket bat on your way out. 

Pippa's brief laughter startled Hecate. 

“Nice to meet you." She grinned. Hecate huffed but smiled in spite of herself.

‘Well, it was nice to meet you, too. Surreal, perhaps, but… nice.’ Pippa smiled again. She turned toward the door and Hecate automatically opened it letting Pippa pass through. She gently closed it behind Pippa, but she couldn't make herself back away. She stood there and stared at where Pippa Pentangle had entered and exited her life for the second time that day. 

She had just turned to recollect her things to return to the bookshop when there was a knock on the door. Hecate startled and spun around. 

"Yes?" she said as she opened the door. She didn't know who she was expecting, maybe Dimity after misplacing her key, but whoever it was, it wasn't Pippa once again. She reflexively stepped back. 

"I forgot one of my bags." Pippa nodded toward something behind Hecate. It was the canvas bag from the bookshop.

"Of course," Hecate stood to the side and Pippa brushed by her as she reentered the house. Hecate shivered at the light touch. She instinctively closed the door as she watched Pippa move through her space. She still couldn't quite believe it was real. Pippa picked up the bag and slung it over her shoulder. "Wouldn't want to forget your Eliot. Couldn't find him in any other bookshop in London." What was wrong with her? 

"No, I couldn't possibly." She looked mischievous now and Hecate felt her insides tighten up. She wondered just how many people got to see that look on Pippa's face. Probably a lot. She probably had scores and scores of friends in Hollywood or Beverly Hills or wherever she normally lived. Hecate somehow knew it wasn't in London, but where she came by that knowledge, she couldn't say. 

"Well, thank you." Pippa approached Hecate again and Hecate froze. Had Pippa been this close before? Hecate blindly reached for the latch again. "For the use of… well…" A light blush colored Pippa's cheeks. "Just… thank you." 

Pippa leaned forward to press a kiss to Hecate's cheek and Hecate went still with shock. Pippa smelled lightly of flowers, and her lips were soft and her hand on Hecate's arm was warm. Pippa pulled back, but only a bit before she caught Hecate's eyes. With the smallest of shifts, she leaned in again and caught Hecate's lips with her own. 

Hecate startled. Just like that, Pippa Pentangle was kissing her. Hecate didn't know what to do with herself. In all of her years alive, nothing had ever prepared her for this. It seemed like one hundred thoughts flew through her mind before she finally managed to move her lips and kiss Pippa back. She could feel Pippa's smile as the kiss lingered. Pippa shifted closer, their bodies lightly coming together. Hecate raised her hand to place on Pippa's hip. 

The door slammed open and Pippa jumped away. 

"Hey HB," Dimity said, bicycle balanced on one shoulder as she stepped into the house and looked over at Hecate, oblivious to the other person on the landing. "Fancy you being home in the middle of the day." 

Then she realized that they weren't alone. "Hi there." Dimity hiked the bicycle up a little then shifted it off her shoulder and down to the ground. Her gaze slid over Pippa as she unclipped her helmet. If Hecate were prone to laughter, the double-take Dimity took would have made Hecate laugh. She gawped at Pippa. "You're…" She looked from Pippa to Hecate, back to Pippa and then back to Hecate. 

"Going now." Pippa smiled shyly at Hecate then slipped through the now open door. Hecate automatically closed it behind her. 

"That was…" Dimity stared at Hecate. "Was that really Pippa Pentangle? Here?" Dimity leaned her bicycle against the wall. She looked like she wanted to slump against the wall herself. "I didn't just imagine that?" 

"If you did, it was a collective hallucination." That could be the only explanation as to why Pippa had just kissed her. Someone had spiked her tea earlier and now she was seeing things. And feeling things. It was one of Mildred's flights of fancy. She couldn't say she hadn't enjoyed it. Still, _Pippa Pentangle_. 

Dimity shook her head and headed down the hallway, toes of her bicycle shoes tapping against the floor. "Well, out with it," she called over her shoulder. "Tell me everything."

* * *

After she got home from the bookshop for the night, Hecate told Dimity some of what happened that day. She didn't tell her about the kiss. She was half-convinced it was a thing conjured up by her imagination, though why she would imagine _that_ she didn't care to think about. In any event, she would never see Pippa again, so there was no use in going on about it. Best to put it behind her. She wasn't one to go to the press about such things or, even more absurd, brag about it on social media. And who would believe her anyway? It wasn't like she had a selfie or some other ridiculousness to prove that they met. Truthfully, she only had the vaguest idea about how to take a selfie. 

But somehow she was still distracted. Without her input, Dimity decided that what they needed was a marathon of the highlights of Pippa's career, so she cued up a film on Netflix on the tv that Hecate never used for anything besides the nightly news, popped some popcorn, and dragged Hecate down onto the couch with her. 

The first film was not as terrible as Hecate would have anticipated. Pippa was young in it, her very early twenties at the outside, and Hecate found that she much preferred the current incarnation of the woman. Pippa paced from one end of the screen to the other, demanding answers from the suspect who obviously wasn't the killer simply because the runtime of the film dictated that he not be. Hecate thought perhaps it would be a _Murder on the Orient Express_ type situation where everyone in the cast had some part to play in the victim's ultimate demise. Hecate wasn't sure that the film was sophisticated enough to pull that off though.

Still, she couldn't pull her eyes away from the screen, though everyone but Pippa disappeared into the background. Hecate couldn't take her eyes off of her, and when Pippa finally solved the mystery and all of the loose threads got wrapped up, Hecate realized her hand was covered in butter from the popcorn she didn't realize she had been eating. 

"Another?" Dimity asked. "I think they've got one of her rom-coms on here. The really cute one, where she falls in love with an American." 

"I…" But before she could finish answering, Dimity had the next film playing and Hecate couldn't find it in her to protest. She leaned back into the couch again and watched Pippa fall in love with a rumpled New Yorker. She rolled her eyes when he declared his love on the top of the Empire State Building. Really, who would do such a thing? Go to one of the most public places on Earth and shout their love across the rooftops. It was preposterous. 

When the film ended, Hecate yawned. She checked her watch and shook her head at herself. Ten past twelve. Much later than she normally stayed up. She wiped her hand on a napkin and picked up the bowl. Dimity had fallen asleep at some point and Hecate saw no reason to wake her. It wouldn't be the first time Dimity had fallen asleep on the couch and it never seemed to bother her. Hecate pulled a blanket down to cover her and turned to go up to her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are amazing!!! They inspire me to keep writing!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @twtd11


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pippa phones Hecate to explain her behavior and Hecate has to pretend to be a reporter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliotheproclaimer continues to be the best beta ever. Ever.

Hecate went back to her life. Pippa's invasion had just been a brief blip in her otherwise orderly days. She walked to work in the morning, opened the shop, supervised Mildred as she interacted with their few customers, went home in the evenings, had dinner, watched the news, and then went to bed only to repeat the same thing again the next day. She didn't think about The Kiss. She didn't think about the heat of Pippa's skin through her top when she had placed her hand on Pippa's waist. She didn't think of the way Pippa's lips felt soft against her own. She didn't think about the sweetness of Pippa's perfume. No, she wasn't thinking about The Kiss at all. 

"HB, your girl's on the Metro website." They were sitting together on the roof of the house, Dimity staring at her laptop while Hecate enjoyed her lunch in the sunlight. 

"What on Earth are you going on about?" Hecate wiped her hands and looked up from her meal. Dimity spun the computer around where Hecate could see what she was looking at. Pippa's face stared back at her. 

"She's hardly, 'my girl.'" Hecate couldn't see the article, but she could see the blurry video playing in the center of the screen. It was taken from a great distance and on someone's phone. Pippa hovered in the middle of the shaky footage, apparently storming away from someone the voiceover informed Hecate was the director. The story went on to speculate about a rift on set and Pippa's temper. Hecate rolled her eyes. It was hard to believe she had let herself get wrapped up in the ridiculousness. 

She was just turning back to her lunch when Dimity said, "Oh shit." Hecate looked up expecting something else dramatic had happened only to find Dimity looking at her with wide eyes. Hecate looked at her expectantly.

"She called." Dimity snapped the laptop closed and pushed it away. "She called the other day and I took a message but I forgot to give it to you." Dimity looked panicked. "Shit." She got up and rushed downstairs before Hecate could even process what she was saying. Hecate was left blinking in her wake. 

Pippa had called her? What did that mean? She didn't have time to think about it before Dimity scrambled back up to the roof and held out the paper. 

"Here." Dimity thrust the message toward Hecate. Then she whispered, "I think it's her mobile."

Hecate blinked at the paper now in her hands. Eleven digits stared back at her. What was she supposed to do with them? 

"Well?" Dimity prompted. "Are you going to call her back?" She pushed Hecate's own mobile across the table and toward her. "You need to call her." 

Hecate picked up her phone. What would they talk about? What could Pippa possibly have to say to her? She dialed the numbers nonetheless. 

The phone rang three times before it connected. Hecate startled when she heard Pippa's voice. 

"Hello? Who's this?" 

"I…" Hecate still didn't know what to say. "It's Hecate. Hardbroom." Then she realized that she and Pippa had never exchanged names. She wondered how Pippa had gotten her phone number in the first place. "You came into my bookshop about a week ago." 

"Right!" Hecate heard a little exhalation of breath like Pippa was relaxing. "Right, _Hecate_." There was a smile in Pippa's voice now.

"You called?" Hecate thought it best to get right to the point. 

"Yes, I did." A pause. "I was hoping you might want to come by. I think our conversation got cut short. I'm at The Ritz, room 837. Oh, please tell me you'll come. Maybe around five?" 

"I…" Hecate didn't know what to say. "I…"

"Come see me, Hecate," Pippa pleaded and Hecate found herself wanting to say yes. Any resolve she felt to put Pippa behind her disappeared. 

"Well, if you insist." 

"I do." 

Hecate nodded. "I'll see you this evening."

"Excellent." Pippa sounded enthusiastic. "Look, I have to go now. I've a press thing. But I really think we need to talk. Goodbye, Hecate." 

Pippa hung up before Hecate could reciprocate. Hecate stared at the mobile in her hand. She still didn't know what she was doing, but she was committed now.

"So?" Dimity broke into her thoughts. 

"So what?" Hecate looked over at her. 

"So what did she want, of course?" Dimity leaned forward in curiosity. 

"Oh, we're meeting later." Hecate shook her head, still in a daze. 

"That's great!" Dimity smiled. She seemed more enthusiastic than Hecate. "D'you think you could get me an autograph?"

"No." Hecate shook her head as she finally focused again. "No, I don't think I can."

* * *

Hecate walked through the lobby of The Ritz and looked around. it looked like every other opulent hotel in London, full of marble and gilt. She made it past the check-in desk to the elevators. As the doors were closing, a hand shot out and stopped them, and a man stepped into the carriage with her. She briefly looked at him but dismissed him out of hand as the elevator rose to the eighth floor. 

He earned a raised eyebrow when he got off on the same floor as her. Oddly, he seemed to be following her down the hallway. She tried to step aside, but he didn't pass her. 

She checked the numbers on the doors. Yes, there it was. She tapped on the door only to have the man hover behind her. 

"Do you mind?" She looked at him askance. 

"Not at all." He stepped back slightly just as the door to the room opened. Instead of Pippa, a woman Hecate didn't recognize stood there with a smile on her face and a clipboard in her hands. 

"There you are. We're running a bit late." She waved them both into the suite and unsure of what to do, Hecate followed her, the man still closer to her than she thought polite. "If you'll both have a seat, someone will come get you when she's ready for you." The woman, who appeared to be an assistant of some sort, left them beside a few empty chairs. 

Hecate didn't sit. She followed the assistant through the assorted bodies that took up most of the space. "Excuse me, I believe there's been some sort of mistake." 

"What was that?" The assistant's flat, American accent grated on Hecate's nerves. Or maybe it was the situation. She hadn't come all the way to the hotel to be shunted about by assistants who clearly had no idea why she was there. Not that she particularly knew why she was there either. 

"I said–"

"Are you the next reporter I need to speak to?" Pippa's voice cut in before Hecate could finish her protest. Hecate wheeled around toward Pippa. Pippa gave Hecate a significant look and tilted her head subtly toward her assistant. 

"I…" Hecate wasn't sure what Pippa wanted her to do. Pretend to be a reporter for some reason? Why would she do that? She _wasn't_ a reporter. 

"I'm positive I remember you from the last time I had to do one of these. You're from," Pippa looked around as if actually trying to remember the magazine Hecate might work for. It was a convincing act, but then Pippa _was_ an actor. "From _Witchcraft and Wicca_. That's right." Pippa sounded pleased with herself as she smiled. 

"Let's get on with it then." She grabbed Hecate's wrist and Hecate did her best not to stumble as Pippa pulled her into another room. 

As soon as the door was closed, Pippa broke into laughter. Her eyes flitted back and forth between Hecate and the couch on the other side of the room. "You look positively perturbed." 

"What just happened? Why have I suddenly been turned into a reporter? From _Witchcraft and Wicca_ no less!" Hecate looked to Pippa for an explanation, annoyance drawing her eyebrows together and down. 

"I'm sorry," Pippa laughed again. "I expected all of these people to be gone by now. But things have run over and they're all press and if any of them gets even a whiff of something interesting going on, they'll all turn rabid." Pippa reached out and rubbed Hecate's arm where it was crossed. "I hope you aren't too put out." 

"I…" Hecate's arm tingled where Pippa touched it. 

The door to the room opened again and yet another assistant walked in. He didn't address Pippa, just moved through the room. Pippa dropped her hand. "Why don't we take a seat?" She motioned toward the couch and the chair next to it. Her face looked utterly professional once again, but her eyes still sparkled. She moved over to the couch and sat down.

Looking back, Hecate could never figure out why she decided to go along with it. 

"Of course, Ms. Pentangle." Hecate took a seat and pulled out her phone. She assumed most reporters would record this sort of thing. She placed it on the coffee table, but the screen remained off. 

"So..." Hecate groped blindly for a question. What would someone from a witchcraft magazine that might not even exist for all Hecate knew, ask Pippa Pentangle? "What role did witchcraft play in the film? Did you have to spend much time practicing the… chanting?"

Pippa gave Hecate a look that clearly said Hecate had gone down the wrong track. "As the film took place on the International Space Station, there wasn't any chanting or witchcraft of any sort, really." 

Hecate's eyes nearly popped out of her head as she panicked. Luckily, the assistant chose that moment to leave the room. 

"Why would you have me be from a witching magazine if there was no witching the film?" Hecate said indignantly. She was tempted to get up and leave right there, but her curiosity as to why Pippa invited her to her hotel room overrode that. 

"It was the first thing I could think of. And, well, you do look a bit of a witch, with the all-black and everything." Pippa tried to conceal her laughter. "Great job playing along though." 

Hecate huffed. "You kissed me. In my own entryway. Then you disappeared." 

"Yes, about that," Pippa looked as though she didn't quite know what to say. "I should probably apologize for that. I don't know what came over me, and then your flatmate showed up, and… Anyway, it was a mistake," 

Pippa shrugged and looked at Hecate questioningly, either asking if her apology was sufficient or… or possibly asking something else that Hecate couldn't decipher at all. 

"Yes, of course." Of course, it was a mistake. What else could it possibly be other than some impulsive mistake? Nevermind that Hecate had thought about it, had recreated it in her head probably a thousand times since it had happened. She straightened her spine. What else could Pippa possibly want from her other than to take back what had been a singular moment in Hecate's life thus far? 

Pippa looked like she was about to say something else when the assistant reappeared. 

Hecate startled, forgetting that she was meant to be interviewing on behalf of Britain and Northern Ireland’s Witches and Wiccans. "What's your favorite book?" she blurted out. 

Pippa smiled and paused for a moment. "_Northanger Abbey_." 

Hecate's eyebrows went up. "Not _Pride and Prejudice_?"

"No. I certainly appreciate Elizabeth Bennet, and I enjoyed playing Elizabeth Bennett, but Catherine's love of fiction has always spoken to me more." 

"I suppose someone in your profession could do with the reminder that fiction and reality don't operate by the same set of rules," Hecate said dryly. 

Pippa laughed. "No, I suppose they don't. Still, I don't agree that women need to curb their imaginations in order to grow up. Though, I just love the way Austen tears apart the Gothic. It's always been too melodramatic for me." 

"Then you've no interest in playing Emily St. Aubert?"

"An adaptation of _Udolpho_? No, I think I would have to pass. Nevermind that I've aged out of the part, I think." Pippa smiled but her eyes shifted to something behind Hecate. Hecate turned to see what it was and found the assistant hovering over her shoulder. 

"Excuse me, ma'am, your time with Ms. Pentangle is up. I'll show you to the next room now." 

"Next room?" Hecate blushed at the way her voice squeaked. 

"Yes, where you can speak to the rest of the cast." The assistant stood there with her clipboard like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Hecate realized in her world, it probably was. Of course, she would be expected to speak to the rest of the cast. God, what would she find to talk to them about?

"Yes, quite." Hecate stood and let the assistant lead her out, but as she was going, she took one last look back at Pippa.

* * *

"Ms. Hallow," Hecate smiled tightly. "What was it like filming simulated space scenes?" If the film was set in space, that had to be a safe question.

"I wouldn't know. I wasn't in those scenes." The teenager looked at Hecate as though she was an idiot, and Hecate rather felt like one. 

"Of course not." Hecate just prayed the interview would be over soon.

* * *

"So, how did you, er, get into character?" Hecate sat across from an older man with a beard who looked like he was dressed in a wizard's robe. Maybe her witchcraft questions would have found a better audience here. 

"Well, as the director, I didn't get into character, per se. But I suppose I did have to have an understanding of just what each of the characters was thinking and feeling to understand their motivations."

Hecate sighed. At least Egbert Hellibore was trying to give her something to work with.

* * *

Hecate shifted uncomfortably. A child sat in front of her. What was she supposed to do with a child? What sort of questions was she supposed to ask? She opened her mouth then closed it again. 

"You've never had to interview a child before, have you?" The girl was direct. Hecate would give her that. 

"Not as such, no." 

Brown hair bobbed as the girl nodded. She pushed her glasses up. "One: yes, filming was an enjoyable experience. Two: no, I don't think I have much in common with my character. Three: Pippa was intimidating at first, but really great to work with after I got over that. Was there anything else?" 

Hecate could only shake her head.

* * *

Hecate stumbled out of the last of the interviews, her head swimming, and overloaded from having to deal with so many strangers while caught in the midst of a lie. She headed toward the door to the door, determined to escape as quickly as possible. She noticed that the area was far less crowded now. 

"Ma'am?" The assistant appeared from behind an oversized vase of flowers that dominated the table in the middle of the entryway. 

Hecate was too tired to be startled. She looked at the assistant. "Yes?"

"Ms. Pentangle would like to see you again." The assistant looked at her expectantly. 

"Of course." What was one more audience with the Queen of Hollywood? She turned back to the room where she and Pippa had their first conversation. As she stepped inside, the assistant closed the door behind her, leaving Hecate and Pippa alone.

Hecate looked at Pippa expectantly. "I've been summoned?"

Pippa smiled sheepishly. "You left your mobile." 

Hecate noticed the object in Pippa's hands. She was sliding it around, fidgeting with it. With Hecate's look, she seemed to realize what she was doing and stopped, holding the phone out. 

"It's been going off quite a lot," Pippa said. 

Hecate took the phone from Pippa's hands. "I expect that's my friend, Julie. She'll be warning me not to cancel on her tonight."

"Friend?" There was interest in Pippa's voice. 

"Mmm, it's her birthday party. I suspect she might be using it to try to set me up with someone." Hecate made a face in distaste. 

"That's never fun, is it?" Pippa looked down at her now empty hands. 

"No. No, it's generally dreadful." Hecate briefly glanced down at her texts before sliding her phone away. 

"I don't suppose…" Pippa looked back up again. "Well, she can't set you up if you're already there with someone." 

Hecate looked at Pippa in confusion. "It's a bit late to find a date now. The party starts in two hours." 

"Well, I mean, I could go with you," Pippa said tentatively. 

"You? Could go with me? To my friend's birthday?" Hecate didn't know why she was repeating what Pippa had just said. Maybe it was because there was no way she was understanding her correctly. 

"Yes. Exactly." Pippa looked a bit more confident now. 

"I… I don't know what to say to that." 

"Say yes. It'll be fun." The mischievous look from earlier returned to Pippa's face. 

"I…" Hecate looked down at Pippa and blinked several times as she weighed her options in her mind. She could subject herself to whomever Julie dragged out of the woodwork, or she could take Pippa. She had to admit, taking Pippa sounded the more appealing option. 

"Alright." She startled herself as she said it. 

"Really?" The disbelief was clear in Pippa's voice. She smiled brightly. "Brilliant. Just tell me where to meet you and I'll be there." 

In a daze, Hecate gave Pippa the address. 

"I should probably be going." Hecate looked over to the door. She needed to leave before she did or said something else preposterous. 

"Of course." Pippa kept smiling. She walked over to Hecate, placed a kiss on her cheek, then shooed her out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are amazing!!! They inspire me to keep writing!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @twtd11


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The birthday dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! New chapter! Yay! If you haven’t noticed, this fic grew two new authors while it sat mouldering in my to do pile. Turns out Cliotheproclaimer and Nike_SGA love this fic as much as I do and Clio thought it would be a shame if it never got finished, so they organized a bit of a coup and turned this into a collaborative effort. I have complete faith that they’ll be able to make this fic as awesome as I could have if I was still doing it alone! 
> 
> Thanks so much for still reading! I promise you won’t be disappointed. - twtd
> 
> I just really wanted to write the dinner scene. - Nike_SGA

“Hi! Come in, vague crisis with the food!”

The door to Gwen and Algie’s house was flung open, to Hecate’s surprise, by Dimity. She had obviously gotten there early, and beamed at Hecate and Pippa as they stood on the doorstep, gesturing them inside. Hecate complied, brushing past her as she heard Pippa offer a quiet ‘hello’; she turned to see Dimity extending her hand. 

“Dimity. We’ve met. Briefly. Sort of.”

“There you are!” A voice from the living room called Hecate’s attention away from her flatmate and towards a woman in her mid-seventies, wearing a calf-length green dress and leaning on a cane. Hecate smiled.

“Gwen.”

The older woman tottered over and kissed her affectionately on the cheek. “Sorry about the fuss. The _ cuisses de grenouilles _ are proving more complicated than expected.”

Hecate eyed her in dismay. “Frogs’ legs? Oh, Gwen, he’s not...”

“Don’t even ask. Hello!” Pippa and Dimity had entered the room, and Gwen held out a hand and smiled warmly as Pippa echoed her greeting. “Good Lord! Do you know, you’re the absolute spitting image of-”

“Gwen, this is Pippa,” Hecate interrupted. To her credit, Gwen’s recovery was remarkably fast.

“Oh! Right.”

“Crisis over!” a jovial voice declared from the kitchen, and Gwen’s husband Algie swung into view, wiping his hands with a dishtowel. Keen to get the inevitable over with quickly, Hecate gently ushered Pippa forward with a hand on her back.

“Algie, this is Pippa.”

“Hello, Pippa! Delighted to meet you.” Algie grinned at Pippa as he leaned forward to envelop Hecate in a quick hug, and then stood back. There was a moment’s silence as the occupants of the room stared at him. “What?”

At that moment, the doorbell rang, and Dimity disappeared back into the hall. “That’ll be Jules.”

“Can I get you some wine?” Hecate asked, and Pippa smiled gratefully. “Red or white?” She distantly heard the low hiss of conversation approaching, and then Julie was bursting in, effusive as ever, beaming beautifically at the inhabitants of the room right before her gaze landed on Pippa.

“Hiya guys! Good to see- oh, holy fuck.” 

Hecate cringed inwardly. “Pippa, this is Julie. She’s...well she’s my best friend.”

“Hi.”

Julie floated towards Pippa with eyes round and awestruck. For a second Hecate thought she was going to propel herself right into Pippa’s arms, but she stopped just short. 

“Oh god, this is one of those key moments in life,” Julie said, “when it’s possible to be really, genuinely cool, and I’m going to faint. I am, one hundred percent.” She reached out and took Pippa’s unresisting hands. “I absolutely and totally and utterly adore you, and I just think you're the most beautiful woman in the world, and more importantly I genuinely believe, and I’ve believed for some time now, that we could be best friends.”

“I thought you were Hecate’s best friend?”

“Things change.”

“Happy birthday,” Hecate’s voice was loud and pointed. Julie swivelled to face her, as Hecate held out a brightly wrapped parcel. She released Pippa’s hands and took it, face glowing, mouthing ‘marry her!’ Hecate chose to ignore her. 

“Alright everyone,” Algie had re-emerged from the kitchen, “dinner is served!”

* * *

Hecate poked tentatively at the crispy little pile of meat on her plate, meeting Dimity’s equally dubious eye, as Gwen elbowed her and made a warning face. Julie gazed at Pippa, while Algie tucked in heartily to his _ grenouille_. 

“So tell me, Pippa,” he inquired, “what is it that you do?” Hecate speared her food and prayed for patience.

“I’m an actress,” Pippa’s voice was unassuming.

“Oh, splendid!” said Algie, around a mouthful of frog. “I’ve done a bit of amateur stuff meself; you know, a bit of Bennet and that. Always imagined it must be pretty tough to do professionally though. I mean the wages are a scandal aren’t they? I know boys from university who tried to make a go of it, and they’re scraping by on seven or eight thousand a year. It’s no life.”

“No,” Pippa conceded.

“What kind of acting d’you do then? Theatre?” Algie stuffed another mouthful in, and raised his bushy eyebrows. The rest of the table had stopped eating and were watching this exchange in a sort of obscene fascination.

“Films, mainly.”

“Oh, lovely! Anything I’d’ve seen?” Hecate closed her eyes.

“Um, possibly-”

But Algie didn’t pause for her answer: “I imagine the money in movies is a bit better than theatre. What about the last film you did, if you don’t mind me asking? What did you get paid?”

“Twenty million,” Pippa said, flatly. Algie arrested his fork halfway to his hanging jaw.

“Pounds?” he croaked.

“Dollars,” Pippa clarified, “so about fifteen in sterling.” She delicately popped half a cherry tomato into her mouth.

“Right. So...that’s quite good then.”

Pippa smiled gently and set her cutlery down. “Sorry, Gwen, could you tell me where-?”

Gwen picked up her meaningful look instantly. “Just down the hall to the right, dear.”

“I’ll show you!” Julie shot out of her chair to hold the dining room door open, then bounced excitedly after Pippa, waggling her eyebrows at the rest of the company. Dimity gave up trying to contain her laughter and snorted into a napkin as Hecate glared at her. 

“Hecate!” Gwen exclaimed, “Explain yourself, and quickly. What are you doing here with _ Pippa Pentangle_?”

“Pippa _ Pentangle?”_ Algie paled. “The film star?” Hecate gave him a long-suffering look. “Oh my god.” He cringed. “Oh my _ god._”

Julie wandered back in with her hands over her mouth, her cheeks flushed red. “I walked right into the loo with her! She had to ask me to leave!”

“Do you think she realised I didn’t recognise her? I might have got away with it.”

“She hasn’t touched her _ grenouille_,” observed Gwen.

“She’s a famous vegetarian,” said Julie, sitting back down. Dimity choked.

Hecate buried her face in her hands.

* * *

Hecate swirled the red liquid in her glass, feeling pleasantly full. After the initial awkwardness, the conversation had eased and started to flow as the wine had, and by the time they had reached dessert, Algie had gotten over his opening gaffe and was smiling benignly at the rest of the table.

“Right, there’s one brownie left, who wants it?” Hecate groaned her refusal, but Dimity and Julie reached for it at the same time, and everyone laughed. “Alright, a contest then.” 

Algie sat up straight and set his wine glass down firmly. “Having Pippa here has highlighted to me what a desperate lot of under-achievers the rest of us really are.” The table offered a ripple of faux-outrage, but Algie shook his head, undeterred. “I'm not saying it's a bad thing! In fact, I think it's something we should take pride in. Therefore, I'm going to give the last brownie as a prize to the saddest act here.” There was another gust of laughter as Gwen shook her head fondly. Hecate shrugged.

“So, Dimity, then.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright!” Dimity’s eyes twinkled even as she adopted a morose expression. “Obviously it’s me isn’t it. Knackered a potentially successfully athletic career with a poorly-timed knee injury, have to rely on the kindness of my mates to put a roof over my head because I’ve had the unluckiest run of renting in London history. Haven’t had a girlfriend since my twenties, and no-one fancies me so the chances aren’t looking great.”

“I fancy you!” Julie protested, giving Dimity’s shoulder a nudge. 

“D’you?” Dimity looked startled. Julie smiled.

“Yes, but,” Algie interrupted, raising a finger, “unless I’m very much mistaken, you have a decent job coaching posh people’s kids to play tennis and footie or whatever, while Julie here is out flogging her artwork on the Portobello for a fiver a pop.”

“Yep!” Julie agreed convivally. “So I live in a tiny flat with my practically-grownup daughter who’s off to university soon, leaving me sad and alone; I have to work a second job doing night shifts in a garage shop, so I never get any sleep; and no matter how I try to style it, my hair will always resemble a bedraggled bird’s nest by the end of the day.”

“Sad,” Dimity agreed. 

“But,” said Gwen, “her best friend _ is _ Pippa Pentangle.”

“What can I say,” Julie sighed, flinging an arm over the back of her chair and raising her wine glass. “She needs me.”

“Meanwhile,” Gwen continued, raising her voice over the laughter, “Julie here at least _ has _a daughter, whereas Algie and I never did manage any children, so we can’t even qualify as empty nesters. And she still has all the use of her young limbs, because she didn’t fall over a kerb and break a hip like a silly old bird, so she’s not going to be forced to walk with one of these,” she pats her cane, “for the rest of her days.” Algie’s face falls, and Hecate swallows. They’d all rather hoped Gwen’s injury would heal better than it had, and that the stick would be only a temporary measure. She had always been such an active woman.

“Oh, Gwen,” she said softly.

“C’est la vie!” declared Gwen, before they could all get too maudlin. “We’ve a lot in life to be grateful for still...but surely that’s worth a brownie.” She reached out, but Algie’s hand over hers stopped her.

“Well, it’s good, love...but there’s still Hecate.” There was a murmur of amused assent, and Hecate prepared herself for the incoming barrage.

“Very unsuccessful professionally, because she’d rather scare her customers away than sell them any books. Describes her last long-term relationship as ‘the confinement’, and even then was unceremoniously dumped via a text message. Despite being rather pretty, insists on dressing like a particularly prudish Edwardian governess; and destined to probably never be taken seriously by Pippa again, once she learns that her nickname at school was-”

“Hiccup,” Gwen supplied cheerfully. 

Hecate groaned, as the rest of her so-called friends broke out in a smattering of light applause. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Well, at least you get the last brownie!” Dimity declared, and reached for the plate. “But since you don’t like them, as your friend, I will relieve you of the burden.”

“Wait,” Pippa caught the edge of the plate and stopped Dimity from claiming the prize. “What about me?”

“You think you deserve the brownie?” Algie’s face was a picture of surprise.

“Well, a shot at it at least,” Pippa argued.

“You are going to have to prove it, you know,” Dimity said, “This is a good brownie. I will fight for it.”

“Alright.” Pippa settled in her chair, and met each of their gazes slowly as she looked around the table. “First, I’ve been on a diet since I was fourteen, which means I’ve basically been hungry for decades. I’ve had a series of failed relationships, and everytime it happens, instead of getting to move on privately, it gets splashed around the international news for other people’s entertainment. I’ve been called an airhead, a bimbo, a puppet for various company agendas, and I’ve been accused more than once of getting to the top by lying down, as it were.” There was a pain in Hecate’s chest, as she thought of all the times she’d flipped past pictures of Pippa in the paper or some magazine, not questioning whatever derogatory headline was plastered above her face.

“And one day,” Pippa continued, dropping her eyes to the table and screwing up her napkin in her hands, “not long from now, my looks will fade, and they’ll discover I _ can’t _ act, and all I’ll be is some sad, middle aged woman who looks a bit like someone who was famous for a while.”

There was a heavy silence over the party. Hecate could hear Pippa’s steady breathing. Her eyes glittered in the dim light.

“Yeah, nice try gorgeous, but you’re not fooling anyone,” Dimity reached forward and plucked the brownie from the plate as the tension broke, relief colouring the laughter that bubbled up around the table. Pippa grinned at Dimity, although Hecate could see the edges underneath. Algie was chortling, and Gwen leaned over to take his hand.

“Rubbish effort to hog the brownie,” Hecate teased Pippa in a low voice, and the blonde smiled at her gratefully. Hecate smiled shyly back.

The rest of the evening passed swiftly after that, and it wasn’t long before they were both shrugging on coats and exchanging goodbye kisses with everyone in the hall. Julie hugged Pippa fiercely, and Hecate overheard her say “Sorry about the loo thing, I just- ring me, if you fancy some shopping or a chat or anything really, it was just so lovely to meet you.”

“Leave her alone, Jules,” Hecate called, but Pippa seemed unruffled.

“I will. Good night everyone.”

There was a chorus of goodbyes as they left the house, and the door closed behind them. They’d only meandered down the path a few steps before a cacophony of excited whoops and shrieks sounded from the house, and Pippa slipped her hand into Hecate’s, looking amused.

“Sorry,” Hecate said, drily. “They always do that when I leave.”

* * *

The air was still warm, despite the lateness of the hour, and Pippa decided she wanted to walk back in the direction of Hecate’s flat with her, rather than call a cab there and then. They strolled down the streets of Bayswater, and Pippa reached out to brush her fingers along the iron railings that separated one of the private communal gardens from the rest of the outside world.

“I’ve always been fascinated by these. They’re like their own little worlds, little villages inside London that you can only access if you have the key.” Hecate sniffed disparagingly. 

“They’re elitist nonsense.” 

Pippa grinned at her, as though she’d said something funny. “I suppose they are.” They walked in silence for another few moments. “Have you never been tempted to break into one?”

“Break into one?” The thought was vaguely horrifying. “Why? How?”

“Hop the fence!”

Hecate regarded the high railings with their iron tipped spikes. Algie hadn’t been wrong about one thing in his scathing assessment of her: “In this dress?”

“No,” Pippa laughed, stuffing her hands in her coat pockets. “I suppose you’re quite right. Are you busy tomorrow?”

Hecate glanced over at her, “I thought you were leaving tomorrow.”

Pippa shrugged, lips quirking in a half-smile. “Things change.”

They’d reached a street corner that turned up towards Hecate’s home. She inclined her head in the direction of the flat. “You could always…”

Pippa shook her head. “Too complicated.”

“Right.”

Pippa regarded her for a moment, then taking her hands out of her pockets she carefully cupped Hecate’s face and leaned in towards her, meeting her lips with her own. Hecate’s breath caught. Like their kiss in the hallway, it was soft and lingering, and she could feel Pippa’s smile against her mouth. She slipped her arms around the other woman’s slim waist and sank into the sensation, kissing her back without hesitation. One kiss melted into another, until Pippa drew away with a sigh. She stayed close to Hecate as she brushed her nose against her cheek, and left a gentle kiss on the side of her lips. Hecate opened her eyes, which had drifted closed, and Pippa gazed at her earnestly. 

“Tomorrow,” she repeated, and Hecate was powerless to do anything but nod.

Pippa stepped out of her arms and flagged a hackney that was trundling down the street with its light on. Hecate saw the driver’s eyebrows lift in recognition as she slid into the back, and then it carried her off, with a wave and a glance back at where Hecate stood under the glow of the lamppost. Hecate watched until the taillights retreated out of sight, and then she turned, and started for home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may recognise some dialogue as being lifted practically verbatim from the movie, especially Honey/Julie’s, and that is because the late, great Emma Chambers can never be bettered. 
> 
> Tag, Clio, you're it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clio here! I realise I have two wonderful, talented acts to follow, but I hope you enjoy this next chapter x

With less than an hour to go before she was due to meet Pippa Pentangle outside the Ritz, Hecate Hardbroom was pacing her kitchen floor in her dressing gown, her mug of coffee growing ever colder on the kitchen table. Every so often she would make a frustrated gesture and begin to speak to the empty room, but inevitably would give up and resume pacing.

‘HB?’ Dimity ventured carefully, slipping past Hecate towards the fridge, where she retrieved the disgusting, strawberry-flavoured protein concoction she had made for herself the night before. ‘Everything alright?’

‘I’m fine.’ Hecate gritted out, glaring at Dimity. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

Dimity shrugged.

‘You’re wearing a hole in our floor.’ 

Hecate stopped still and stared at her feet as if surprised at what they were doing, and then groaned, sinking into a chair and burying her face in her arms.

‘I’m guessing this is about your date with the Queen of Hollywood.’ Dimity took a cheerful swig from her bottle. ‘You’re right to be nervous, you know. You’re bound to fuck it up somehow.’

‘I’m well aware.’ Was Hecate’s muffled reply. She raised her head, eyeing her flatmate critically. ‘You’ve been on successful dates with women, despite having very little personal charm. How do you do it?’

‘I’ll ignore that last part, but only because you’re so pitiful.’ Dimity rolled her eyes, taking the seat opposite Hecate and crossing her legs. ‘I usually lead with ‘I played hockey for Team GB’, and then it’s pretty much plain sailing from there.’

‘Helpful.’ Hecate glowered.

‘Look mate, I don’t know what to tell you. It’s Pippa Pentangle. She could have any person she wanted on the planet, but apparently she wandered into your shop and took a fancy to you, just being your normal, grumpy, nun-like self. Maybe that’s what she’s into.’

‘Into?’ Hecate asked, aghast. Dimity laughed.

‘All I’m saying is, don’t second-guess it. But definitely don’t be late. What time are you meeting her?’

‘Four.’ Hecate glanced up at the kitchen clock. ‘ _ Shit. _ ’ She sprung to her feet, sprinting up to her bedroom. ‘You distracted me!’

‘I just sat down!’ She heard Dimity yell back indignantly, scraping back her chair and pursuing Hecate upstairs. ‘What are you going to wear?’

The self-same question was crossing Hecate’s mind at a frantic pace as she pulled open her wardrobe and reviewed the sparse array of clothing before her.

‘My usual clothes.’ She yelled back, grabbing blindly at a long pencil skirt and a black jumper. Outside her door, Dimity gave a long, pained groan.

‘Hecate. Date with Pippa Pentangle. Do  _ not _ wear your usual clothes.’ Hecate puffed out her cheeks, surveying the outfit she had put together. Dimity had a point.

‘Well what should I do, should I borrow yours?’

‘I live my life in hoodies and tracksuit bottoms, I am clearly not a suitable alternative.’ But Hecate heard her give a sudden gasp. ‘Wait. Back in a mo.’ Hecate rolled her eyes, slipping off her dressing gown and going to her mirror, hastily reapplying her red lipstick.

‘Here.’ Dimity strode triumphantly into the room, something long and black in her hands.

‘Dimity!’ Hecate attempted to cover herself with her hands, scandalised. ‘Get out!’

‘It’s perfect.’ Dimity said, proudly. She held out the garment; a black, halter-neck jumpsuit with a slim cut leg and a seductively low back. ‘That journalist who never called back left it here, and she is definitely not coming back to claim it.’

‘I can’t steal her jumpsuit.’ Hecate objected half-heartedly, fingering the smooth material. It was a rather lovely piece, and even a fashion-blind spinster such as herself could see that it was just right for an afternoon date – not too casual, but not out of place in a park or cinema.

‘Don’t be silly, of course you can.’ Dimity replied dismissively. ‘Come on, put it on.’

Muttering under her breath, but with one eye on the clock, Hecate undid the zip and slipped into it, letting Dimity untie and refasten it behind her neck. The two of them stood in front of the mirror, surveying Hecate’s reflection.

Dimity’s face split into a grin.

‘Well, well, don’t you scrub up well. Who’d have thought you owned a pair of legs?’

Hecate elbowed her hard in the stomach.

‘Ouch.’ She rubbed her elbow moodily. ‘How did that not hurt you more?’

‘Because I eat real food and exercise twice a day. When was the last time you did a sit-up, Hecate?’

‘Shut up. Going now.’

‘Wait.’ Dimity went to her chest of drawers and picked out a necklace, which she held up critically to the light. Once satisfied, she crossed the room to stand behind Hecate, fastening it around her neck. ‘Go get ‘em tiger.’

Hecate looked herself over once more, a small smile stealing over her lips.

‘Thanks for the fashion advice.’ She said, a little grudgingly. ‘Wish me luck.’

‘Good luck. Be safe, don’t get papped.’

Hecate pulled her leather jacket from where she had left it hanging on her door and ran down the stairs, stopping only to pull on a pair of heels and grab her handbag from where it had predictably become buried beneath Dimity’s sports kit.

* * *

She was ten minutes early to the Ritz, but Pippa was already waiting outside, strategically positioned behind a pillar and looking out from behind it. She locked eyes with Hecate and smiled shyly, giving a half-wave.

‘Hi.’ She stepped forward, kissing Hecate on her cheek quickly and surreptitiously. ‘You look stunning.’ 

Hecate was certain that she was blushing horribly, but managed to pull herself together.

‘You – also. You also look good.’ Hecate muttered. Well, it wasn’t much, but it was at least a sentence, and Pippa beamed in reply.

‘Why, thank you.’ She reached into her handbag and put on the pair of oversized sunglasses Hecate had first met her in until she looked as out-of-reach and glamourous as that first day they had met in the bookshop. ‘We’ve got a while till the film, right?’

‘Yes, I – I thought you might like to walk around Soho for a while.’

‘Soho.’ Pippa echoed, smiling to herself. ‘That sounds lovely.’

They began to walk casually down Piccadilly, a careful distance apart. Unless one were to see them talking, one wouldn’t guess that the two of them were together. As she realised this, Hecate looked down at Pippa in question.

‘Sorry, it’s just – your news websites. If they get wind that I’m on a date with a mysterious beautiful woman they won’t stop running with it until…’ she trailed off, as if unsure as to how that sentence was supposed to end. ‘Anyway, it’ll be fine once we’re in the cinema.’

‘Right.’ Hecate replied stiffly, trying to convey how little she minded. From Pippa’s uncertain glance, she wasn’t sure she was doing all that good a job.

‘Pippa?’ The two of them spun around. There were two teenage girls, both nudging each other and grinning in Pippa’s direction. ‘Oh my god, it’s Pippa Pentangle.’

‘Hi.’ Pippa gave the two of them a tight smile, but they were undeterred.

‘Oh my god, can we get a photo with you?’

‘I…’ Pippa looked at Hecate, but nodded. ‘Sure.’ The two girls moved beside her, and Pippa put an arm around each. 

Hecate wondered how she would cope with strangers coming up and feeling entitled to a physical embrace from her. Not well, she decided.

And it seemed that even Pippa was flagging after the third time this had happened, when they were barely half a mile down Shaftesbury Avenue. She grimaced at Hecate with a wearied expression.

‘You know, normally people don’t recognise me under the glasses, but it’s a busy road and there are adverts for the film everywhere…’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ Hecate reassured her. ‘But we need to get you off the street; that much is clear.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Pippa bit her lip. ‘I do want to wander around London with you at some point. I’m sure if we get a bit further in…’

‘Hang on.’ Hecate looked around her clandestinely and stepped into a side street, motioning for Pippa to follow.

‘Where are we going?’ Pippa asked, looking around them at the looming terraced houses, glass shopfronts giving way to brick blackened by years of London soot and grime, flowers hanging from window boxes and a few Marxist flags on the panes.

‘Just – I know it’s somewhere around – there!’ Hecate alighted upon her envisaged hideout. Pippa looked at it in confusion. Aside from the words ‘Marlborough House’ written over the iron-wrought front door, there was very little to indicate what was inside.

‘This…is this someone’s house?’ They went up the steps and Hecate pulled open the door, holding it open for the other woman.

Pippa stepped into the hallway, open mouthed. The walls were a painted fresco, each panel depicting a scene from  _ The Metamorphoses _ . A replication of the  _ The Winged Victory of Samothrace _ towered over them in the hallway, a copy of the armless  _ Venus de Milo _ smiling benignly down at the pair.

‘Hecate – this is beautiful.’ Pippa spun around, her eyes shining. ‘I had no idea there was a museum here.’

‘London is full of houses donated by old, rich men who hated their families, and so turned their strange art collections into museums in their wills.’ Hecate explained as they walked through the exhibition, Pippa’s head turning between each beautifully painted panel. ‘And I can promise you, there will be a maximum of two people in here, and neither of them will know who you are, because neither will own a television.’

‘It’s perfect.’ Pippa took off her glasses, tracing a hand over a bust of Adonis. ‘Do we have to pay?’

‘Regrettably.’ Hecate glanced around. ‘But there’s no one at the front desk, so I think we might just get away with it.’

‘Wonderful.’ Pippa smiled up at her. So, what’s in the other rooms?’

‘Ah.’ Hecate confided, as they strolled through an ornately carved drawing room door. ‘That’s the unfortunate reality about these houses. They lure you in with wonderful artwork in the hallway and end up being a series of diminishing returns with each room. I can practically guarantee that the next room will be paintings of vases of flowers by a second-rate eighteenth-century artist.’

She was half right. The drawing room turned out to contain paintings of different arrangements of fruit by a second-rate group of Victorian artists who, according to the museum leaflet, were attempting to become the still-life rivals of the Pre-Raphaelites.

‘Yep, you were right.’ Pippa sighed, examining a dismal painting of a bowl of pears. ‘And it gets worse from here?’

‘Almost definitely.’ 

‘So we won’t be missing out on much then.’

Before Hecate could inquire what she meant by that, she felt the other woman’s cool, braceleted hand slip into hers and pull her away.

Pippa didn’t stop until the two of them were secreted in an alcove, shielded from any potential, unsuspecting members of the public by an enormous bookshelf. Hecate frowned down at her.

‘Is something…?’ She was cut off mid question as Pippa looped her arms around her neck and drew her into a kiss, manoeuvring the two of them until Hecate’s back was pressed against the wall. Hecate let out a high-pitched noise she hadn’t realised she was capable of making, breaking away to look at Pippa in disbelief.

‘Pippa, I…’

‘Hmm?’ Pippa murmured, tracing Hecate’s jaw with a pink fingernail and looking her over through hooded lids. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you walking towards me in that jumpsuit.’ She reached up again for Hecate, who was powerless to refuse her. She wrapped her arms around the other woman’s waist, almost giddy with the feeling of Pippa’s skin beneath her hands and the eagerness of her mouth beneath her own and the utter, utter madness of it all.

‘Wait.’ Hecate pulled back again, as Pippa let out a growl of frustration. ‘The film starts in half an hour; they won’t let us in if we’re late.’

‘It’ll be fine I’m sure.’ Pippa pulled her back down, her mouth on the shell of Hecate’s ear. ‘It’s ten minutes away, you said. We’ve got ages.’

They were very late to the cinema.

‘I’m afraid I can’t let you in.’ The teenager behind the counter looked between them anxiously. ‘Picturehouse rules. We don’t let anyone into a screening after it starts.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Pippa looked up at Hecate. Even with her large sunglasses back on it looked as though she was trying not to laugh. ‘We just got carried away.’

The teenager shrugged apologetically.

‘Is there another film you want to see? We’ve got ‘About Time’ in half an hour, or ‘The Princess Bride’ in ten minutes…’ Pippa gave a gasp.

‘The Princess Bride?’ She turned pleading eyes to Hecate, who looked at her in disbelief.

‘You want to go and see a film with the words ‘Princess’ and ‘Bride’ in it?’

‘You’ve never seen ‘The Princess Bride?’ Pippa’s pleading look swiftly became one of horror. ‘Did you have a childhood?’

‘Not much of one.’ Hecate said, defensively. But Pippa’s eyes were still enormous behind her dark shades, and she gave a sigh.

‘Two tickets to…the princess film, please.’ She looked at Pippa knowingly. ‘Would you like some popcorn?’

Forty minutes into the film, Hecate leant over to Pippa, who was eating sugar-encrusted popcorn piece by piece with an expression of utter absorption, her sunglasses finally put away in her clutch.

‘This man is very clearly her childhood sweetheart wearing a mask. It is concerning that she can’t see that.’

‘Hecate, shh.’

‘Fine.’ She settled back in her seat, alternating between watching the film and watching Pippa’s expression. After a while she couldn’t take it any more. ‘Why are they rolling down the hill?’

‘Because they’re in love.’ Pippa finally turned to smile at Hecate. ‘Sometimes love is one person rolling down a hill because they’re too stubborn to admit to someone who they really are, and then the other person rolling after them because they’re sorry they pushed them.’

‘Is that what just happened?’

‘Hecate.’

Hecate jumped. Pippa’s hand had somehow found its way to her leg, her thumb tracing perilously close to the inside of Hecate’s thigh. ‘Shhh.’

Hecate swallowed heavily, her mouth suddenly dry. She looked over incredulously at Pippa, who had already turned back towards the screen, her face the picture of innocence. Accepting defeat, Hecate put an arm casually on the back of Pippa’s chair, and the other woman leant into her with a quiet chuckle, resting her head on her shoulder.

By the time Wesley and Buttercup had ridden off into the sunset together, and Peter Falk had promised his grandson that he would read him the story the next day, Pippa was wiping away tears.

Hecate looked at her slightly nervously.

‘Are you…are you okay?’

‘It’s just a really beautiful story.’ Pippa sniffed. ‘And you enjoyed it, I could tell.’ Hecate tilted her head in acknowledgment.

‘I… enjoyed the postmodern take on the genre, and the self-aware avoidance of political satire for the sake of the love story.’

Pippa regarded her in astonishment for a few moments, and then burst into laughter, tears forgotten as she threw back her head and giggled. Hecate felt increasingly as though she were on a particularly unpredictable fairground ride, lurching from one of Pippa Pentangle’s emotional extremes to the next.

‘Of course you did.’ Pippa said eventually, her laughter melting into a broad grin. ‘Come on. I’m starving, and I want to buy you dinner.’

* * *

Hecate was rather relieved that Pippa had clarified that before they went to the restaurant, particularly after being led into a rather high-end Japanese restaurant with prices higher than her bookshop’s weekly turnover. She had almost balked at the long queue outside – but Pippa had marched up to the maître d’ and flashed a brilliant smile, and somehow a table had materialised out of thin air for the pair of them, as though by magic.

‘Is that wise?’ Hecate asked, after they had been seated, (albeit unfortunately close to a group of investment banker types,) and offered a complimentary glass of champagne each.

‘Oh, they’d be out of business if they phoned the papers every time a celebrity came in.’ Pippa waved her away as she studied the menu. ‘You should try the gunkan maki, it’s supposed to be incredible.’

‘Is this what you do?’ Hecate realised that another woman could make that sentence sound seductive, but she merely sat back with her arms folded and regarded at the other woman frankly, trying to make her out. ‘Do you go around spilling tea on unsuspecting women in different cities and then…then…’

‘Then what?’ Pippa asked mildly, not looking up. Hecate realised that she probably sounded vaguely accusatory, and made an effort to lighten her tone.

‘Well, is there a Hecate Hardbroom in New York? Or Paris, or Tokyo – or Abu Dhabi?’

‘Abu Dhabi?’ Pippa was openly giggling now, putting down her menu so she could laugh at Hecate properly. ‘Do you think I go around kissing strange women in Abu Dhabi?’ Hecate looked into her glass, unable to fight the smile playing at the corners of her lips.

‘You aren’t contesting the other cities though.’ Pippa sighed, reaching for Hecate’s hand beneath the table.

‘Trust me.’ Her eyes glittered under the harsh light of the lamp hanging directly overhead. ‘There is only one Hecate Hardbroom.’

They ended up ordering an assortment of vegetarian dishes and happily picking their way through them with chopsticks, occasionally breaking off to insist that the other try some of what they were sampling. As is always the way with small plates, they were hungry and then over-full all at once.

‘Enough.’ Hecate groaned, pushing back her plate as Pippa tried to tempt her with more sushi. ‘I physically could not eat another bite.’

‘Me neither.’ Pippa sighed, eyeing the last remnants of food a little sadly. ‘It’s a shame. It’s so delicious.’

‘Unbelievably delicious.’ Hecate agreed, sipping at her third glass of rosé, (a drink she never would have chosen herself but that she was finding surprisingly enjoyable,) feeling pleasantly warm and a little tipsy. Emboldened, she looked at Pippa over her glass. ‘So, you make blockbusters.’

‘Yes.’ Pippa’s reply was nonchalant enough, but Hecate could sense the danger behind it this time. But her tongue was already too loosened by the wine for her to tread carefully around a topic.

‘But you like TS Eliot.’

‘Yes.’

‘And museums.’

‘I love museums.’

‘And strange, romantic, arthouse films that have more depth the more you think on them.’

‘Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here.’ Pippa leaned further across the table, a smile playing across her lips as she surveyed Hecate from beneath her lashes. ‘You, Hecate Hardbroom, are a snob.’

Hecate recoiled in outrage, her mouth falling open.

‘I am not!’

‘Yes you are.’ Pippa told her, in a manner that made an attempt at seriousness but was undercut by the amusement in her tone. ‘You are an absolute snob. You’ve probably seen me a hundred times in a magazine, or a billboard – or on the side of one of those double-decker buses you Londoners seem to love so much – and each time I bet you’ve snorted and thought about what an airhead I must be.’

‘Airhead?’ Hecate’s voice was low, but she couldn’t help but laugh a little at Pippa’s indignation. ‘I mean I might think you were an airhead, were I a character in one of the high school romance novels my shop assistant reads.’

‘Oh, you know what I mean.’

‘Is that what you think?’ Hecate took another sip of wine and leaned closer to Pippa, until she could see the lights of the restaurant reflected in her darkened eyes. ‘Do you imagine me walking around London, my nose upturned, scoffing at all the billboards of actresses I see?’

‘That’s not what I meant!’ Pippa cried.

‘That is absolutely what you meant! We just walked through the West End today, did you think I was looking at the poster for  _ Les Miserables  _ and moaning to myself that the actresses in it weren’t committing themselves to more fulfilling careers?’

‘Shut up.’ Pippa giggled, and Hecate found herself joining her, the two laughing together uncontrollably as each glance across the table set them off anew, until the waiter came over and they were forced to come to some semblance of dignity as they impressed upon him how much they had enjoyed the meal.

‘That space film with Pippa Pentangle? Nah, didn’t like it. Left after the little bloke got blown up by the whatsit.’

Pippa sat up straighter at the table. The voices of the City men they had been seated next to rose above the restaurant din, amplified by cheap wine and the confidence that men seemed to find in large groups. Hecate’s hackles rose, but Pippa shushed her, a sly grin appearing on her face as she listened to their conversation.

‘Well I don’t really care what the film’s like.’ Hecate peered furtively around Pippa until she matched the braying tones to their owner: a man with a mop of artfully dishevelled blonde hair and the ugliest suit she had ever seen in her life. She felt her mouth curl in a  _ moue  _ of disgust. ‘Any film with her in is fine by me.’

Pippa rolled her eyes, smiling as she framed her face with her hands. Hecate raised an eyebrow at the other woman’s performance, trying not to laugh too obviously.

‘No – no, I prefer that other one. You know; long hair, nice smile, runs about naked on an island singing ABBA.’

‘Lily James.’ Pippa mouthed across at Hecate.

‘Lily James! Yeah, yeah that’s the one.’ There was a general murmur of appreciation at the table, but the floppy blond man interrupted, gesturing at the others with his pint glass.

‘Not a chance, she’s too wholesome. The point about Miss Pentangle is: She’s got that twinkle in her eye.’ (Hecate almost spat out her drink at Pippa’s attempt to emanate the twinkle.)

‘Probably drug-induced. She’s spent most of her bloody life in rehab.’

Hecate looked anxiously at Pippa. She was still smiling, but perhaps more distantly, as though she had gone somewhere just out of reach. The man continued, apparently through a mouthful of sashimi rolls.

‘Well whatever, she’s so clearly up for it. I mean most girls, they’re all ‘stay away chum’, but Pippa…’ the man paused for dramatic effect, and the smile was gone from Pippa’s face, ‘is absolutely  _ gagging  _ for it. Do you know, in many languages, the word for actress is also the word for prostitute? And Pippa is your definitive  _ actress. _ Someone really filthy you can just flip over and start again.’ Pippa physically winced as the group roared their approval, all beginning to yell and make noises over each other.

Hecate reached across for Pippa’s hand, but she withdrew it quickly, recoiling as though she had been hit. Her eyes darted first to Hecate, as if to gauge her reaction to what she had just heard, and then to the floor, her throat working and her face white with embarrassment.

Hecate felt anger coil low in her chest.

‘Right.’ She threw down her napkin. ‘That is  _ it. _ ’ She got to her feet.

‘There really is no point.’ Pippa murmured wearily. But Hecate was undeterred, getting to her feet and marching over to the offending table.

The blonde-mopped fool caught her eye and gave her the once over, his face oozing into a sleazy grin.

‘Alright darling.’ He slurred. ‘Fancy a drink?’

‘I most certainly do  _ not. _ ’ Hecate hissed, her tone enough to attract the attention of most of the men in the group, who looked at her in obvious confusion. ‘I wish I had not overheard the imbecilic gibbering that appeared to be passing for conversation at this table, but all I will say is that Pippa Pentangle is a real person who deserves consideration, not morons like you drooling all over her.’

For a moment, the collective brows at the table appeared to furrow, as if unable to process what had just been said. But their ringleader recovered quickly.

‘Piss off, you mad feminazi.’ He took a gulp of his drink. ‘What are you, some kind of lesbian?’ That was enough to set the rest of the table off into jeers, and Hecate advanced forward angrily only to be pulled back by Pippa, who led her across the restaurant. Hecate felt a brief moment of guilt as she realised how close she had come to dragging Pippa into their idiocy.

‘Sorry.’ She muttered. Pippa shook her head.

‘No, no, I love that you tried. Time was I’d have done the same thing.’ She stopped suddenly in the middle of the restaurant, and Hecate looked at her in concern. ‘In fact…’ She turned swiftly on her heel and strode back towards the table, Hecate following in her wake.

‘Hi.’ Pippa stopped in front of the group, endowing them with one of her brilliant, beaming smiles. Hecate had the distinct pleasure of watching every single mouth in front of her fall open, sushi falling from chopsticks and splashing expensive suits with soy sauce.

‘Oh my God.’ The Lily James fan murmured, turning first red and then an unpleasant shade of green.

‘I just wanted to apologise for my friend here.’ Pippa put an arm around Hecate, who gave a thin smile of her own to the group, eyes flashing maliciously. ‘She’s just so sensitive.’

The floppy haired imbecile got to his feet, stammering apologies which Pippa waved off. ‘No, no, leave it – I’m sure you didn’t mean any harm. I’m sure it was just ‘friendly banter.’ I’m sure you all have dicks the size of peanuts. Enjoy your dinner.’ And taking Hecate’s hand, Pippa pulled her away once more, Hecate taking one final satisfied look over her shoulder at the wreckage Pippa had left behind.

‘You know, I think you made him cry.’ Hecate murmured. Pippa let out a snort of laughter, and Hecate was relieved to see the colour and warmth return to her cheeks.

‘I settled the bill, we can…’ She tilted her head towards the door, her hand still entwined in Hecate’s. ‘Walk me back to the hotel?’

They walked slowly down the Piccadilly, neither saying much. Pippa hadn’t let go of her hand, and she was leaning into Hecate’s shoulder. Hecate could smell her jasmine perfume, and the product in her hair, and thought about how soft Pippa’s hand was in her own.

‘I shouldn’t have done that.’ Pippa murmured, shaking her head in recollection. ‘Christ alive, I should not have done that.’

‘No.’ Hecate insisted. ‘You were brilliant.’ Pippa continued as if uninterrupted.

‘I’m rash and I’m stupid and – what am I doing with you?’ She stopped and stared at Hecate, who realised after a few seconds that she was expected to provide an answer.

‘I…’ She met Pippa’s eyes in an almost-challenge. ‘I don't know, really.’ Pippa let out a breath she had been holding, laughing quietly to herself. They resumed their walk, as close as they had been before.

But the orange lights of the Ritz Arcade were growing closer, and Hecate felt the other woman’s grip on her hand tighten. As they approached, Pippa came to stand in front of her, looking up at Hecate under the lamplight and bringing her other hand up to touch Hecate’s forearm.

‘I don’t want this to end.’ She murmured, almost plaintively. Hecate could only nod in reply. It didn’t need saying that it had to end. That actresses could not take up with bookshop owners and Pippa Pentangle could certainly not be seen with Hecate Hardbroom.

But even as she had the thought, Pippa seemed to have been making up her mind about something.

‘You know what, give me ten – no, fifteen minutes. I need to call someone, but then do you want to come up?’ Hecate’s heart almost stopped beating at the implication, she felt her face grow hotter for what must be the hundredth time that day.

‘There – um.’ She looked at Pippa in question. ‘There seem to be lots of reasons why I shouldn’t.’

‘Lots of reasons.’ Pippa agreed, her features warmed by the glow from her smile. ‘Do you want to come up?’

Hecate nodded rather helplessly, and Pippa’s smile grew. She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind Hecate’s ear.

‘Wonderful.’ She murmured, placing a quick kiss at Hecate’s jaw, near her neck. ‘Fifteen minutes.’

‘Fifteen minutes.’ Hecate repeated. Pippa released her, walking half-backwards into the hotel lobby in an attempt to keep smiling at Hecate, who could only match her expression foolishly. As soon as the other woman was out of sight she slumped against a pillar, allowing the cool stone to support her and praying to any friendly deity that might be listening to give her courage for what was about to happen next.

* * *

After fifteen minutes of wandering outside the Ritz, Hecate made her way through lavish hallways and corridors up to Pippa’s hotel room, trying to ignore the patter of her heart in her chest, at the thought of Pippa waiting for her upstairs.

By the time she knocked on Pippa’s door, her heart was in her mouth, and she found herself wishing she had found a bathroom to freshen up her hair and lipstick in.

But then Pippa was opening the door, her eyes wide.

‘Hi, um you need to leave.’ 

Hecate frowned, feeling as though somehow Pippa had removed the floor to the corridor from beneath her, and she was falling into the lobby below.

‘I’m sorry?’ She said flatly. Pippa bit her lip.

‘No, I’m sorry, it’s just – my girlfriend, who is supposed to be in America, is now in the next room.’

‘Your  _ what _ ?’

‘Hey babe.’ A woman with a spiky blonde bob came into view, and Pippa froze.

‘Hey.’ She said, shakily. ‘I just…’

‘Who’s this?’

The woman frowned, coming closer to give Hecate the once over and  _ of course.  _ Of course Pippa’s girlfriend was none other than  _ Amanda Honeydew _ . Even Hecate had heard of her – had been forced on more than one occasion to listen to one of her saccharine, derivative albums by Mildred when they had been shutting up the shop together. And now she was standing in front of Hecate in shorts and a crop top, looking her up and down in a vaguely threatening manner.

Hecate pressed her lips together, attempting to wrap her head around the sudden change in circumstances. She could tell this woman who she was. She owed nothing to Pippa Pentangle, there was no reason for her to lie and demean herself for the sake of sparing her further embarrassment.

Except there was. Except that the sight of Pippa Pentangle close to tears made her heart feel too small and too tight in her chest.

‘Room service.’ She blurted out, turning to look at Amanda, who was still regarding her suspiciously.

‘You’re not in one of those uniforms.’ Hecate followed her gaze down to her jumpsuit.

‘No – I was going out, but Miss Pentangle had one last request, and I thought I would do it on my way.’

‘Oh.’ Amanda relaxed. Clearly the idea of someone postponing their own plans to wait attendance on a celebrity was one she had no trouble getting her head around. ‘In that case, while you’re here…’  She opened the door, and Hecate stepped further into Pippa’s room. It looked as though a bomb had hit it; sparkly tops and tube skirts littered the floor, with sheets of what looked like one of Pippa’s scripts scattered around randomly. There was a spilled bottle of tequila half out of a large, white suitcase.

Amanda flashed her a smile.

‘Could you see if you could try and get us some really cold water up here? Still not sparkling, and with a slice of lime.’ Hecate looked in disbelief at Pippa.

‘I – absolutely.’ Amanda flopped down onto the bed.

‘Great. What’s your name?’

Hecate took another glance at Pippa, who was still staring resolutely at the floor.

‘Mildred.’ She said, neutrally. Amanda laughed.

‘Weird name. Well Mildred, would you mind taking out the trash and adios-ing the plates?’

Hecate followed Amanda’s pointed finger to where the pop star’s half-eaten dinner was congealing on her plate. Gritting her teeth, Hecate began to gather them both up, holding one in each hand.

‘No…’ Pippa seemed to come to her senses, looking between them in sudden horror and moving towards Hecate ineffectually. ‘No – please don’t. I mean – Mandy, I’m sure that’s not her job.’ She bit her lip hard in distress, and Amanda looked at her in surprise.

‘Hey, alright, I see.’ Holding up a calming hand in Pippa’s direction, she got out her purse and withdrew a five pound note, sauntering over to Hecate and depositing it in her pocket. Hecate looked down and then back up at the other woman in contempt, but Amanda appeared oblivious. ‘Anyway, really appreciate it, lady.’

Amanda gave a lazy, disaffected smile, and then her eyes slid off of Hecate as if she were bored of the sight of her. She walked towards Pippa, wrapping her arms around the smaller woman and pressing their lips together, lifting Pippa off her feet. Hecate cleared her throat and looked pointedly out of the window, heat rising in her cheeks. She could feel Pippa’s eyes flickering over to her in dismay.

‘So, tell me.’ Amanda purred, leaving pecks around Pippa’s lips. ‘Good surprise or nasty surprise?’

Pippa hesitated, her eyes flooded with panic.

‘I – ah.’ It occurred to Hecate how different Pippa looked from fifteen minutes ago, how small and trapped she appeared in the other woman’s arms. But Pippa managed a half smile at her girlfriend. ‘Good – good surprise.’ Amanda giggled.

‘She’s such a liar, you know.’ She announced to Hecate, her hand slipping down until she was grazing Pippa’s abs, her mouth hovering near her neck. ‘She hates surprises. Always has done.’

For a moment, Hecate allowed the image of Pippa looking around Marlborough House, open mouthed in delight, to flicker across her consciousness. It was a bitter kind of triumph, to think that in the short time they had spent together Hecate had garnered more of an idea of who Pippa was than her girlfriend.

‘So, what are you going to order?’ Amanda interrupted Hecate’s train of thought – and apparently Pippa’s too, as the other woman frowned in confusion.

‘Order?’

‘From the room service?’ Amanda rolled her eyes, speaking as slowly and loudly as an American tourist might speak to a Parisian museum attendant. ‘What do you want from Mildred here?’

‘Oh.’ Pippa’s panic seemed to grow; she brought her hand to her head as though she had a headache. ‘I – I haven’t decided yet.’

‘Well, don’t overdo it.’ Amanda half-sang, in a voice that was a long way off from being playful. ‘Don’t want people to say there goes that hot popstar with her big fat girlfriend.’ She smacked Pippa’s behind as if to punctuate her last sentence, and Pippa’s cheeks flushed scarlet as she stared at the floor, suddenly incapable of meeting Hecate’s eye.

Hecate stood stock still. She thought that if she were to move, she might be in serious danger of hitting this woman, and God knew where that would put them all – apart from Hecate on the wrong side of a lawsuit and a criminal prosecution.

‘Anyway babe, I’m going to go take a shower.’ She heard Amanda say through the red haze that seemed to have descended around the room, her voice sounding as though she were standing at a very great distance. ‘Don’t keep me waiting.’

‘Actually…’ But Amanda didn’t wait for a reply, pulling her t-shirt over her head as she made her way into the en-suite.

Hecate looked at Pippa searchingly, somewhere still wanting a reason, an excuse that could absolve the other woman and provide some explanation for the scene that had just played out. But Pippa ducked her head, turning away from Hecate and wiping at her eyes.

‘Right.’ Hecate said instead, quietly. ‘I should leave.’

‘No.’ Pippa finally lifted her gaze, her eyes now wet and red-rimmed. ‘Please, I’m so sorry, I…’ She made a motion as if to reach out for Hecate, but her hand fell limply by her side. ‘I – I don’t know what to say.’

Hecate stared for what felt like an age at the other woman, a million angry, frustrated, heartbroken retorts forming and dying on her lips.

But she wasn’t angry. Looking at Pippa now; standing in the middle of a hotel room trying not to cry, her awful girlfriend in the bathroom, she couldn’t summon anything like rage – and she was Hecate Hardbroom. She got angry at the dawn chorus for being too loud too early in the morning.

‘I think.’ She said, her voice even quieter than before. ‘I think ‘goodbye’ is traditional.’ And she turned on her heel before she could see Pippa’s reaction to her words, slipping out through the door.

There was a black rubbish bag outside one of the rooms, and Hecate stared at it for a moment before tipping both the plate and the contents of the wastepaper basket unceremoniously into it. And then she walked, slowly and unwillingly through corridors and hallways and onto a double decker bus with Pippa’s smile plastered on the side of it, loathing every step that took her further away from Pippa Pentangle and the brief, enchanted moment she had spent in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, I hand you over to the inimitable Nike for the next Act...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate tries to take her mind off Pippa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all your lovely comments! We're having a blast co-writing this! Hope you all continue to enjoy! - Nike_SGA

Hecate pulled her coat tight around her as she stepped into the night air outside the cinema. Dimity hastened after her as she started up the road with a determined stride, and caught up after a few steps, shoving her hands in the pockets of her teal Puffa jacket. They walked silently for a minute, passing the illuminated poster for _ Helix_, where Pippa Pentangle’s warm, brown eyes stared soulfully out from behind the visor of her Gaultier-esque astronaut’s helmet. Hecate didn’t look at it; as if that would in any way compensate for the last hour and a half.

“Alright,” Dimity admitted from beside her, “that probably wasn’t one of my better ideas.” 

Hecate clenched her jaw. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t heap all the blame on her contrite flatmate. “No. It’s fine. I’m the idiot who went in anyway.”

It had been weeks since her ill-fated encounter with Pippa in her hotel room, and after watching Hecate mope about the flat even more quiet and withdrawn than usual, Dimity had eventually instead on dragging her out for the evening. “Before you retreat into total hermitude,” she’d said, holding Hecate’s coat out. Hecate had acquiesced reluctantly, and followed Dimity along until they reached the cinema and she’d halted abruptly at the sliding doors, glaring at her so-called friend in betrayal.

“I just thought,” Dimity had said, holding up placating hands between them, “it might actually help. Like, ripping a plaster off, you know? And anyway, it’s supposed to be quite good.”

Which was how Hecate had found herself, that Friday night, sitting in a dark, crowded room, watching a space film she would never have normally chosen to see anyway, and wishing for the same black void to open up and swallow her whole. From the moment Pippa’s pretty face appeared on-screen, magnified and inescapable, she’d felt winded and wistful and small, but she couldn’t look away. The ending had been sad, but she hadn’t cried. She wouldn’t.

Now, she sighed heavily, arms wrapped around her waist as Dimity’s round, open face - usually such a stranger to worry - screwed up in concern. She slowed her pace, and took a breath. 

“I just…” she started, faltered, tried again, “I just can’t seem to move past it, you know? Get over her. And I _ want _ to get over her.” It’s the most honest she’s been about the whole situation, with Dimity and with herself, as she shakes her head. “But I can’t. It’s like a drug.” She won’t say what ‘it’ is, won’t say the word that’s rattling around behind her teeth and on the tip of her tongue. “Like I’ve taken a drug and now I can’t ever have it again.” Dimity slid one hand out of her pocket and slipped her arm through Hecate’s, holding her close in a way that’s comforting without being too much. She squeezed at Hecate’s elbow, and Hecate swallowed hard.

“I’ve opened Pandora’s box,” she said, despondently. “And there’s trouble inside.”

They walked in heavy silence until they reached a crossing, and Hecate used her free hand to reach out and press the button. When Dimity spoke, her tone was contemplative.

“I knew a girl at school called Pandora,” she offered, and Hecate turned to look down at her, curious. “Never got to see her box though.”

Dimity dragged her across the road, as the green man squawked almost as indignantly as Hecate.

* * *

Gwen watched her hawkishly the following weekend, as Hecate shifted from foot-to-foot in the older couple’s cosy kitchen, half a glass of red wine sloshing fretfully in her hands. “Promise you’ll try,” she instructed, as they heard Algie heading back from the front door with a visitor in tow, and Hecate winced, apologetic in advance.

After the miserable night at the cinema with Dimity, she had been coerced out once again with the rest of her friends to _ Mabel’s _, a homey, mid-range restaurant close enough to all of them to have evolved into a convenient meeting place on the nights they weren’t content to clutter up Gwen and Algie’s living room. Julie had sat with her head on Hecate’s shoulder until she’d had to shrug her off to eat, and the conversation had been pleasantly vague for a while, but of course had turned eventually to Pippa, and Hecate was forced to recount the incident at the Ritz for the benefit of all of those who had only heard it second-hand from Dimity.

“And you really didn’t know she had a girlfriend?” Gwen had asked, in apparent defiance of everything she knew about Hecate’s character.

“No,” Hecate answered. “Why, did you?”

The shared glances around the table made it obvious that everyone had.

“Bloody hell,” she groaned. “I can’t believe it: my whole life ruined because I don’t read ‘Hello!’ magazine.”

“_No-one _reads ‘Hello!’ magazine,” Dimity muttered despairingly.

“Let’s face facts,” Julie had contributed, taking Hecate’s hand under the table. “It was never going to work, was it. Pippa’s a goddess, and you know what happens to mortals who get involved with the gods.”

“Buggered,” Algie supplied helpfully, taking a forkful of spaghetti.

“Every time,” Julie agreed.

“But don’t despair!” Algie wiped his mouth with a napkin and beamed at Hecate through his beard. “I think I have the solution to your problems.”

“Really?” Hecate asked dubiously.

“Her name’s Daisy, and she works in engineering. The hair, I admit, is unfashionably frizzy, but she’s bright as a button and kisses like a nymphomaniac on death row.” Dimity laughed as Gwen slowly lowered her cutlery and made pointed eye-contact with her husband. “Um. Apparently,” he added weakly.

Which was how Hecate had come to be standing in Gwen and Algie’s kitchen, listening to the excited chatter of the vaunted Daisy as she approached, and then there she was, bedecked in a tartan dress under a tweed jacket, grinning hugely, dark-skinned and wavy haired; bright, and _ perky _. Hecate’s heart sank.

“I got completely lost!” Daisy was exclaiming as she entered. “It’s so difficult, isn’t it? Everything’s got the word ‘Kensington’ in it: Kensington Park, Kensington Gardens, Kensington Park Gardens...hello! Oh, you’ve got a walking stick!”

“Daisy, this is my wife, Gwen,” Algie introduced her, as Gwen reached out to shake her hand with a polite smile and Hecate attempted to unstick her jaw from the position of frozen horror the woman’s tactless observation had caused. “And this is Hecate.”

“Hello, Hecate,” Daisy turned her enormous grin around to her, and to Hecate’s chagrin reached out, planted a hand on her upper arm, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Algie’s told me all about you!”

“Has he, indeed,” she hissed. Daisy seemed not to notice, and instead held aloft the bottle of wine in her other hand with a giggle. 

“Oh, yes. Come on Hec, let’s get sloshed!” She sashayed forward towards the kitchen table, and Hecate exchanged a look with Gwen, who shrugged in surrender. She took another swig from her own wine glass, relishing the bitter slide of Cabernet Sauvignon against her tongue, and prayed this would be over quickly.

* * *

“So, Marigold, some chicken?” Algie hovered over the shoulder of Hecate’s latest date - an artist, this time, so he’d told her - wielding a pan and a spatula. Marigold gave him a tight smile, and fiddled with the end of her headscarf.

“No, thank you. I’m a fruitarian.”

“Oh,” Algie said, discombobulated. “I...I didn’t realise.” He floated away with a puzzled expression, and Hecate would feel sorry for him if she weren't so ready to strangle him. There was a clatter of hand-made jewellery to her left, as Marigold shifted in her chair, and Hecate plumbed the depths of polite conversation a little desperately.

“What..is...a fruitarian? Exactly?” 

“We believe that fruits and vegetables have feelings, so we think cooking is cruel,” Marigold explained, folding her napkin into a neat square in her hands. “We only eat things that have actually fallen from the tree or the bush. Things that are, in fact, dead already.”

Hecate blinked. For a wild moment she wondered if she was being had, but the prim tilt of Marigold’s head and the disparaging glance she gave Hecate’s own plate quickly assured her to the contrary.

“Oh,” she said, looking down at her pan-roasted chicken and vegetables. “How...interesting. So, these carrots-”

“Have been murdered,” Marigold confirmed. Hecate heard Gwen’s glass clatter against the table. She didn’t dare look up.

“Well,” Hecate managed, picking up her fork to spear an assassinated aubergine, taken in its prime. “Fancy that.”

* * *

Hecate sipped her coffee and listened to the woman across from her with some interest, as she succinctly expressed her views on the state of the modern education system in England. “I just think,” Millicent concluded, “that we are lacking in the discipline that once produced such great students, and therefore leaders, in this country. A ‘nurturing environment’ is all very well, but where has it gotten us, really?” 

Julie had given up drinking her tea and was now clutching the cup in both hands, wide-eyed as she stared at Millicent’s elegant figure, reclining in a kitchen chair in a tailored black suit, hair swept up in a tight chignon. Gwen seemed to be nodding along mechanically, too intimidated to disagree. Millicent twitched her darkly-painted lips at Hecate, and added, “Well. That’s my opinion, anyway.”

An hour later, Hecate had shown her to the door and shaken her hand as though closing a business meeting rather than ending a date, murmuring, “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Darkside,” as the domineering woman slipped off into the night. She meandered thoughtfully back through to the living-room, where Julie was nursing a fresh cup of tea, and Gwen was treating herself to a brandy.

“Well?” Algie inquired, impatiently. Gwen _ harrumph_ed in disbelief, as though Hecate’s opinion could be anything but identical to her own.

“She was...interesting,” Hecate conceded.

“She was terrifying!” Julie sat her cup on her lap and shook her curly head. “Can you imagine sending your kids to her school? I’d’ve been too frightened to go near the place if she was Millie’s form teacher!” Hecate tutted at her for her exaggeration, but Gwen was expressing her agreement with Julie.

“I thought she made some very pertinent observations,” Hecate insisted. “Maybe a bit of extra discipline would have been _ good _ for Mildred at St. Joseph’s.”

“Oi!”

“There’s nothing wrong with Mildred! She’s a perfectly pleasant and well-behaved young girl!”

“You don’t have to work with her,” Hecate muttered, as she dropped back down onto the couch next to Julie, who hit her with a cushion.

“Defamation of my daughter aside, you’re not actually going to see her again, are you?” 

Hecate sighed, and sank backwards, hugging the confiscated cushion to her middle. “No.”

Despite her feelings about Millicent Darkside, Gwen made a sympathetic face, and Julie rubbed Hecate’s knee through her long skirt. Algie wandered in from the kitchen and leaned against the mantlepiece, regarding her with gentle eyes that made her heart ache just a little. 

“I think,” Hecate began softly, looking between Gwen and Algie as she covered Julie’s hand with her own and linked their fingers, “that you forget what an unusual situation you have here.” Algie tilted his head curiously. “To find someone you love, who’ll love you, too - the chances are miniscule. Look at me.” Hecate sighed. “Before...the actress, I’ve only loved two girls in my whole life, both total disasters.” Her friends started to protest, but she shook her head determinedly. “No, really. Think about it. One of them insists she wants to marry me and keeps me on the hook for an _ unconscionable _ amount of years, only to up and decide she needs to do some ‘journey of self-discovery’ with her cat to North Yorkshire, and the other-” At that, she raised Julie’s hand - still linked with hers - and her best friend smiled affectionately at her and squeezed her fingers, “the _ other _ only fell in love with me in a depressingly non-sexual manner, after we’d been on several ill-advised dates and realised we would be a terrible couple.” Gwen’s eyes twinkled, as Julie leaned in and gently bumped Hecate’s forehead with her own.

“Still love you, anyway” she said, and Hecate smiled. “Never fancied you much, though.”

Hecate laughed along with all of them as she disentangled herself from Julie and threw her hands up in resignation. “And that is why I am going to find myself, thirty years from now, still on this couch.” She forced a smile; she was used to self-deprecation, but tonight her heart wasn’t really in it. 

“Do you want to stay?” Gwen offered, as Julie took her teacup to the kitchen and hugged Algie goodnight. Hecate looked at her gratefully; sometimes Gwen could read her like a book.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. As Julie and Algie neared them, the former on her way to the door, she raised her voice to a normal level again and declared, “All I have waiting at home for me is Dimity in a lime-green tracksuit, and that’s just too tragic, even for me.”

* * *

The sun was halfway through its climb skywards when Hecate left Gwen and Algie’s the next morning. She dawdled as much as she ever really did along the road, and contemplated grabbing a tea on the way to the bookshop - she supposed she really should look in on her business and make sure Mildred hadn’t accidentally burned it to the ground or something in her absence. She got a takeaway earl grey in a styrofoam cup from the newsagent, and grabbed a paper without really looking at it. She didn’t even unfold it to glance at the headline until she was onto her road, and when she did she accidentally took a sharp gulp of tea in her surprise. It burned its way down her throat and scalded her tongue. Checking briskly that her shop front was still there and relatively intact (it was), she abruptly abandoned her plans and headed instead for her flat, eyes flickering over the article - if one could call it an article - as she fumbled her keys in the lock and tripped sightlessly to the living room, by some miracle avoiding Dimity’s various sports equipment in the process.

She slumped onto the sofa, and stared at the grainy photograph of Pippa splashed across the newspaper’s front page - young and doe-eyed and stripped bare, protected only by the compulsory pixilisation of those parts of her body deemed too scandalous for publication - under the hard edged, slavering headline **NO PENT-ANGEL! ** Her hands shook as she followed their instructions to _ turn to page 3! _ and found a series of similar, poor-quality screenshots, clearly grabbed from some crumbling VHS tape, labelled _ Pippa Pants-angle! _ and _ Britain’s Got Talent! _next to a promo photo of Pippa in costume for her upcoming-MCU superhero vehicle, and some hastily written copy about the studio’s shock and internet fan-reaction. The delighted accusations of offence to their faux-delicate sensibilities made Hecate feel sick. She thought of Pippa, the way she had been the last time she’d seen her, teary and defeated and so very far away, and she hurt for her badly. Hecate suddenly wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry.

The ring of the doorbell made her swallow her tears, and she ran a hand through her loose hair, pulling herself together as she tossed the newspaper aside and made her way down the hall. Expecting Julie, or Dimity having forgotten her keys, she wrenched it open and froze at the familiar blonde figure standing on her doorstep, head bowed and oversized sunglasses firmly in place.

“Hi,” Pippa said, tremulously, as she looked up into Hecate’s stunned face. “Can I please come in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your move, Clio...


	7. Chapter 7

Hecate Hardbroom was fairly certain that she had never gaped in her life, but at the sight of Pippa Pentangle shuffling awkwardly on her steps, those ridiculous dark glasses obscuring most of her face, Hecate’s mouth fell wide open, and she appeared incapable of closing it. Looking at Pippa, her hair put up in a hasty, scruffy ponytail and her frame largely engulfed by a baggy long-sleeve top, the memory of her in Amanda Honeydew’s arms returned to Hecate with a sudden, awful clarity. Her mouth snapped shut and her eyes narrowed, and she contemplated slamming the door in the other woman’s face.

But her traitorous heart wouldn’t let her.

‘Come in?’ Hecate repeated, holding herself stiffly and crossing her arms across her chest as though they could protect her from further heartbreak.

‘I’m sorry.’ Pippa took off her glasses, her eyes red and puffy from weeping. ‘I shouldn’t have come here, this is a horrible position to put you in, I just – I didn’t know where else to go. And I know I have no right to ask, and I’m so sorry that I have to, but…’ She trailed off, apparently unable to bring herself to ask the question again.

Hecate bit her lip. She was by no means a particularly soft or tender-hearted woman, but there was no way on earth she could leave Pippa Pentangle trying not to cry on her doorstep.

‘Come in.’ She opened the door a little wider, motioning her inside.

‘They were taken years ago.’

Hecate had invited Pippa to take a seat, but it had been quickly relinquished in favour of pacing around their small living room like a caged tiger, occasionally pausing to wipe at her eyes with the palm of her hand. Hecate stood in her doorway, watching her guardedly. ‘It was – I knew what it was at the time, but I was poor, and young, and I never dreamed I’d end up here.’ 

She gestured around her in frustration, and Hecate wasn’t sure whether she meant as a film star or in a tiny house in Notting Hill, but the point seemed to stand either way.

‘But now the photos have been sold, and they’re just everywhere. The hotel’s surrounded, my phone’s been going off all day - and to make matters worse.’ Pippa’s voice cracked miserably; she took a deep, shaking breath. ‘To make matters worse, it now appears that someone was filming me as well. So, what was just a stupid photoshoot now looks like – like a porno. And I know it isn’t something I should be ashamed of.’ Pippa’s eyes welled up again, and two tears spilled down onto her cheeks. ‘I know I should be out there saying I don’t care, and that it’s my body – but they’re just so horrible, and demeaning, and the pictures are so  _ grainy _ …’

‘Don’t think about it.’ Hecate’s voice was gentle even to her own ears, and Pippa stopped pacing.

‘But the stupid – stupid fucking Daily Mail and their fucking sidebar of…’

‘Don’t think about it.’ Hecate repeated insistently. Seeing that Pippa was about to object again, she crossed the room, taking Pippa carefully by the elbow and leading her into a chair, trying not to react to the feeling of Pippa’s forearm beneath her hand. ‘There is nothing to be gained by dwelling on this.’

‘Please don’t be nice to me.’ Pippa was crying properly now, almost bent over into her lap as she rested her head in her hands. ‘You shouldn’t be nice to me; you shouldn’t have let me inside. I haven’t done anything to deserve it.’

Hecate hesitated, worrying her lip beneath her teeth. She knew that this was the moment that she should either remain a tower of icy strength and turn Pippa out on her ear; or put a comforting arm around her and tell her that everything would be okay, as Julie might do.

‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘I think you should have a bath, and then I’ll make us both a cup of tea, and we can take things from there. Is that…does that sound…?’

Pippa raised her head, her face now blotchy and tear-stained and somehow still extraordinarily beautiful. She took a shuddering breath, but managed a small, genuine smile in Hecate’s direction.

‘Thank you.’ Her voice, though thick, was a little steadier. ‘A bath would be great.’

* * *

Within the next half-hour Hecate was slumped on the sofa, listening to the sound of water running upstairs and contemplating smothering herself with one of her own cushions. Yet another thing that Hecate Hardbroom never thought she would be doing. Slumping. But here she was, horizontal, her legs slung over the arm of the sofa and her hair cascading onto the floor like a melodramatic waterfall.

The running water stopped, and Hecate could hear Pippa clamber into the bath. (Their floors were far too thin; she felt apprehensive each time Dimity did a cardio workout.) At the sound, Hecate let out a long, heartfelt groan, sinking further into the sofa. 

This was obviously a terrible, terrible mistake. When had she become so bad at saying no? She was quite sure that she used to be incredible at shutting people out. There was no one more forbidding and aloof than Hecate Hardbroom. What had gone so horribly wrong? Somewhere, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, she blamed Mildred Hubble. Letting her work at her bookshop had clearly been the beginning of a horrific journey of her becoming a nicer, more accommodating person, and quite frankly Hecate had had enough of it.

Just as she was slipping into a melancholic, anti-Hubble reverie, Dimity’s key turned noisily in the lock, and her lodger began to make her presence felt.

‘Hecate, have you seen this?’ Hecate looked over her shoulder. Dimity flung her football kit moodily into the hall, a newspaper crumpled in her hand. ‘National newspapers publishing nude photos of Pippa Pentangle, in 2020. Can you believe it?’ She kicked her shoes to the side and began to stomp up the stairs. ‘I mean, I’m no fan of the woman in light of recent events, but what a horrible, misogynistic, nasty invasion of privacy. And somehow  _ they’re  _ the ones acting outraged, as though they’re not the ones who bought them in some horrible backroom deal and as if their fucking editors weren’t drooling over them before publication. You know, so what if she was in a lesbian porno when she was younger? We all do things that – oh my God!’

‘Hi Dimity.’ Hecate heard Pippa’s voice echo contritely around the bathroom, and she sat bolt upright on the sofa, realising with a sudden jolt what was happening. ‘Long time no see.’

‘Jesus Christ!’

Hecate ran into the hallway, only to see Dimity sprinting down the staircase, a hand clapped over her eyes. Predictably, she tripped down the last few steps, landing in a sprawled heap at Hecate’s feet.

‘Dimity, what on earth?’ Hecate pulled the other woman to her feet.

‘PippaPentangleinthebath.’ Dimity mumbled, semi-coherently. ‘Oh my stars. I just saw Pippa Pentangle in the bath. That is not supposed to happen. Bad, bad things happen to humans who see goddesses in the bath.’ She opened her eyes, regarding Hecate with a sudden suspicion. ‘Why is Pippa Pentangle in our bath?’

‘Is she?’ Hecate ventured, but at the look on Dimity’s face gave up. ‘Fine. I said she could lie low here until the press lose interest.’

Dimity punched Hecate’s arm, hard.

‘_Ow_.’ Hecate brought a hand to her shoulder in outrage. ‘You know, I’m fairly certain there’s a ‘no domestic violence’ clause in your lease.’

‘What are you  _ doing _ ?’ Dimity hissed, gesturing upstairs with wide, frenzied eyes. ‘Do you not remember how long it took you to get over her last time? The long months of moping, and sighing, and staring out of the kitchen window in the general direction of LA? And now you invite her into our house?’

‘I wasn’t that bad…’ Hecate began, defensively, but at Dimity’s incredulous look faltered. ‘Well alright, perhaps I was.’

‘This has gone too far.’ Dimity got out her phone, scrolling through her contacts. ‘Clearly love has turned your brain to jelly. I’m calling Julie, maybe she can knock some sense into you.’

‘No!’ Hecate made to grab at Dimity’s phone, but she held it threateningly above her head.

‘Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.’

‘Because nothing has happened! Nothing is going to happen!’ Hecate finally exploded. Conscious of the thin floors of the house, she lowered her voice. ‘Look, this whole thing has clearly really upset her; she came here for my help, and I’m not going to refuse it. And finally, may I point out this is  _ my house _ , and if I wanted to put a thousand actresses in  _ my bathroom _ then I could, with or without your permission.’

‘Alright, fine!’ Dimity raised her hands in surrender. ‘Just didn’t have you down as the forgiving sort, that’s all. But if you want to have your heart broken by her all over again, be my guest.’

Hecate opened her mouth to retort, but for once in her life she appeared to have nothing to say to her flatmate. She closed her mouth, folding her arms and not meeting Dimity’s eye.

Dimity gave a long-suffering sigh, shaking her head sorrowfully.

‘I am going into the kitchen to make myself a blueberry protein shake. And I never in my wildest dreams thought I would ever say this, but Hecate, if I see Pippa Pentangle naked one more time today, I am going to lose my shit.’

‘I’m really sorry about last time.’

Hecate and Pippa were together sat at the kitchen table, the steam from two cups of tea in two red, chipped mugs rising between them. Pippa was looking at her nervously, her hair damp and loose around her shoulders, her mascara a little smudged from where it had been steamed off in the bath.

‘Oh, that?’ Hecate tried to appear nonchalant, but from the look on Pippa’s face she wasn’t being particularly convincing. She sighed, dropping the act. ‘Yes, that was rather…unexpected. Although I appear to be the only person in the United Kingdom who didn’t know of your relationship status.’

‘Not the only person.’ Pippa smiled wryly. ‘You know, before Amanda flew in to ‘surprise’ me, I hadn’t thought she was ever going to fly in again.’

‘Ah.’ Hecate nodded, staring into her tea. ‘How – um – how is she?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’ Pippa wrapped her fingers around the warmth of her mug, her gaze somewhere in the far distance. ‘It just got to the point where I couldn’t remember any of the reasons why we got together.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And I think it was her who arranged for the photos to be leaked.’ 

Hecate’s head snapped upwards; she regarded Pippa in disbelief.

‘I’m sorry?’ Pippa nodded; her head bowed.

‘I’m not sure. I mean who knows, maybe it was a coincidence that the photographer decided to sell photos he’d been holding for almost twenty years within a week of me breaking up with Amanda; but whenever we came close to splitting in the past she would always say something stupid and threatening, and I just never thought she was serious, but now…’ Pippa shrugged, and Hecate felt a now-familiar, heated rage coil low in her belly.

‘She did not seem a particularly nice person.’ Her voice was clipped, and Pippa looked sadly down into her tea.

‘She wasn’t, no.’ She admitted, resting her head on her hands. ‘I’m sure I dated a few nice women, once upon a time. But then the fame thing starts, and suddenly dating anyone who doesn’t have a Hollywood-style schedule seems impossible, and then…’ She trailed off, looking up at Hecate. ‘I thought about you a lot, you know, these last few months.’

Hecate tensed, her back straightening.

‘I – you don’t have to…’ She began uncomfortably.

‘Sorry.’ Pippa winced. ‘I just – I wanted you to know that she was the one I went up to call that night. I was going to tell her that things were over between us for good. But then she was there and I just – I lost courage.’

‘Oh. I see.’

Hecate took a sip from her too-hot tea, trying not to react as it scalded her mouth. She didn't care that Pippa Pentangle was ready to end a high-profile, star-studded relationship to pursue a liaison with her. That was information that might have intrigued the old, naïve, un-heartbroken Hecate, but was mere conversation-fodder to her now. She was completely and utterly unaffected by this news. So unconcerned was she by Pippa Pentangle’s relationship with her ex that she almost didn’t hear Pippa’s next question.

‘What about you? I mean, is there anyone…’

‘No one.’ Hecate replied, almost instantly. ‘No, a few failed dates, one with a fruitarian, but nothing…nothing interesting.’

‘Oh, fruitarians are the worst.’ Pippa gave her a sympathetic look over the rim of her own mug. ‘Did she tell you really severely while you were eating a vegetable?’

‘Yes – but wait, you’ve heard of them? I assumed she’d made the term up.’

‘Oh, no.’ Pippa assured her, a ghost of her old smile playing across her lips. ‘There’s a fruitarian restaurant just off Sunset Boulevard. I hear it’s very popular for the two months of the year that fruit falls off trees.’ 

It was a weak stab at humour, but Hecate found herself snorting with laughter, and Pippa’s smile broadened. Somehow, air that had been pulled strange and taut between them seemed to relax a little.

Just as Hecate was searching for another innocuous, ice-breaking question, Pippa’s phone began to screech, her bag vibrating urgently.

Pippa’s smile disappeared.

‘I should…’

‘No, you shouldn’t.’ Hecate snatched Pippa’s bag from the back of her chair.

‘It’s probably my agent.’

‘Calling with good news?’ Pippa bit her lip. ‘Exactly. We need a distraction.’

‘A distraction?’ Hecate glanced around her room, and when that proved fruitless, inside Pippa’s tote bag.

‘Is this the… submarine film?’ She tried to keep the disdain out of her tone, and Pippa looked up in surprise.

‘Yes, we start shooting in LA on Tuesday.’

‘Perfect.’ Hecate fished a bundle of papers from the bag, covered in pink highlighter and post-it notes. ‘I’ll take you through your lines.’

‘Really?’ Pippa perked up; her phone apparently forgotten. ‘Would you? Because it’s all talk-talk-talk.’

‘Of course.’ Hecate flicked through the script. ‘Basic plot?’

‘I’m a difficult but brilliant military tactician who was cryogenically frozen during the second world war, and I’ve been brought back to save the world from aliens.’

Hecate blinked, realising that unless she got her face under control, she was in danger of proving Pippa’s theory about her snobbishness correct.

‘Right.’ She offered, tucking a long lock of hair behind her ear to disguise the twitching in her fingers. ‘Well done you.’

* * *

They ended up taking lunch up onto the roof, Hecate feeding Pippa lines in between bites of her sandwich. The space on the terrace was one of the nice things Dimity had done with the house since moving in. The Dreaded Ex had always hated it up here, arguing that London smog was particularly hazardous at a significant height. But after a few months of Dimity’s residence in her house, once Hecate had realised that her friend was no longer crashing and had now permanently moved in, Dimity had installed a patio table and chairs where, in her words, they could ‘take up a beer and criticise our rich neighbours.’ It was a pastime that had brought them both a great deal of enjoyment.

‘We’ve got to do that scene again.’ Pippa got to her feet, taking a handful of crisps with her. She had donned one of Hecate’s oversized black jumpers and was fiddling with the sleeves in impatience. ‘Come on, hit me.’

‘Right.’ Hecate buried her head in her script. ‘Message from command. Would you like them to send in the HKs?’

‘No.’ Pippa began to walk up and down like a military commander, the effect only broken by the occasional pause to eat a crisp. ‘Turn over four TRs and tell them we need radar feedback before the KFT’s return at nineteen-hundred – then inform the Pentagon that we’ll be needing black star cover from ten hundred through twelve-fifteen – and don’t you dare say one word about how many mistakes I made in that speech or I’ll pelt you with olives.’

‘Very well, Captain Britain. I'll pass that on straight away.’

‘Thank you.’ Pippa looked up, clearly dreading the answer. ‘How many mistakes did I make?’

‘Eleven.’ Hecate scanned the page, her forehead creasing.

‘Damn.’ Pippa resumed her march. ‘And Wainwright…’

‘Cartwright.’ Hecate supplied, helpfully.

‘Right – Wainwright, Cartwright, whatever your name is – I promised little Jimmy that I’d be home for his birthday – could you get a message that I’m going to be a little late?’

‘Certainly.’ Hecate cleared her throat. ‘And – er – little Johnny?’ Pippa groaned.

‘My son’s name is Johnny?’

‘Afraid so.’

‘Right – well, get a message to him too.’ Hecate snorted.

‘Brilliant.’ She said, drily. ‘Word perfect, I’d – ouch!’

She was interrupted by a particularly well-aimed Kalamata olive bouncing off the side of her head. Rubbing the spot in disbelief, Hecate attempted to send a glare in Pippa’s direction, but was almost immediately mollified by the other woman’s penitent, answering grin. ‘You’ll be fine, I’m sure. Although I’m not entirely sure why you have a son, given that you’ve been cryogenically frozen for the last eighty years.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Pippa sighed, sliding into the chair across from Hecate and looking at her worriedly. ‘But strangely and sexistly misplaced children aside, what do you think?’

‘It’s…gripping.’ Hecate allowed. ‘It’s not Jane Austen. It’s not Virginia Woolf. But it’s gripping, nonetheless.’

‘You think I should do Virginia Woolf?’ Pippa pushed her hair out of her eyes, frustrated. It turned out that away from her team of personal hair stylists, it dried in lovely, frizzy ringlets, curling rather fetchingly around her face. Which was absolutely not a thought Hecate should be having about her house guest, even if the sight of Pippa’s face glowing in the afternoon sun was making breathing in extremely difficult at times. Indeed, it was a few seconds before Hecate remembered that Pippa’s last question required an answer.

‘Well, I’m sure you would be wonderful in Virginia Woolf. But you know, Captain Britain’s a decent part too.’

‘Really?’ Pippa asked, doubtfully. ‘I don’t remember Clarissa Dalloway having the nerve to say: ‘Inform the Pentagon that we need black star cover over.’’

‘No.’ Hecate acknowledged. ‘And for me, the book is the poorer for it.’

Pippa burst out into laughter, and Hecate smiled, realising that this was the first time Pippa had laughed all morning – and that her eyes had not been drawn to the shape of her phone in her bag for at least ten minutes.

Hecate flipped the script back over.

‘Do you want to go again?’

Before Pippa could give an answer, the roof hatch opened, and Dimity emerged onto the terrace.

‘Oh.’ She said stiffly, upon the sight of them. ‘Good afternoon. I didn’t mean to disturb, just use my work out space.’

‘Sorry.’ Pippa exchanged a rueful glance with Hecate, who was realising just how long they had been up there. ‘We were just going through my lines – you could join in if you like? Someone needs to read the part of ‘Blue Bird’.’

‘Is that…is that the new instalment in ‘The Retaliators?” Dimity faltered, appearing to forget her earlier suspicion of Pippa. ‘That’s ‘Captain Britain’? The first Marvel film to feature a woman lead, and potentially reveal the mastermind behind the Labyrinth plot?’

‘Yep.’ Pippa smiled, evidently pleased by Dimity’s reaction. ‘You want in?’

Dimity didn’t need telling twice. She bounded over, drawing up a chair and taking a handful of crisps.

‘Right, lads. Let’s take it from the top.’

They had stayed out on the roof for quite some time, Hecate reclining on her chair and getting some much-needed sun on her face as Dimity grilled Pippa on some esoteric plot point of the film. But predictably, the sky had darkened with malignant intent, and great sheets of rain had fallen with precious little warning, forcing the three of them down the roof hatch at a dangerous pace. 

Forced inside, Pippa’s earlier nervousness seemed to return in the confined space of their kitchen, which she prowled agitatedly.

‘Pippa…’ Hecate began, but Pippa cut her off, flashing her a quick, tense smile.

‘No, I’m fine, honestly. Just need to distract myself.’ 

Her eyes scanned the room, fell upon Hecate’s neat, ordered shelves, currently groaning under the weight of the various odd items they had been entrusted with. ‘You know, you didn’t strike me as a knick-knack person.’

‘I’m not.’ Hecate glared resentfully in their direction. ‘It’s Julie’s daughter, Mildred. She keeps getting me gifts from vintage markets. It’s an appalling habit.’

‘But you keep them?’ Pippa questioned, a smile playing across her lips. Hecate harrumphed, well aware that her silence was speaking volumes more on the subject than she might care for. Giggling a little at Hecate’s perturbed expression, Pippa began to examine the posters on their wall, her shoulders set a little easier.

She stopped in front of one particular print. ‘I can’t believe you have that framed.’ 

Hecate followed her gaze to the calligraphic rendition of ‘The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock’ that Julie had found for her on the Portobello Road.

‘Oh that? Yes, it’s my favourite poem.’ Pippa wrinkled her nose.

‘Really?’ Hecate looked at her in bemusement.

‘You don’t like it?’

‘Honestly?’ Pippa came and sat across from her on the sofa, her eyes sparkling in challenge. ‘I love Eliot. I hate that poem.’

‘You hate the greatest use of verse in the twentieth century, and possibly of all time?’

‘It’s not about that.’ Pippa countered, her arm now resting on the back of the sofa, her hand perilously close to Hecate’s. ‘It’s just so defeatist. Why is the old codger sitting around wasting his life? Why doesn’t he use one of those mornings, evenings or afternoons to go out and do something, or tell this girl whose arm hair he’s so obsessed with that he likes her? It’s just a beautifully written grumpy old man monologue.’

‘Grumpy old man monologue?’ Pippa nodded seriously.

‘A male writer moaning about how disappointing his life is and how a girl won’t like him back and thinking it’s both universal and great art.’

Hecate mulled Pippa’s words over.

‘You have a point about the genre.’ She conceded. ‘But I think you’re forgetting that most people aren’t Hollywood actresses, with the world laid at their feet. Most people’s lives are missed opportunities, and waiting too long for things to get better, and eventually realising that this is all there is. Decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.’

She flushed, unused to speaking so openly about poetry of all things – but when she looked up, Pippa was regarding her with a countenance that could almost be described as tender. Her fingers came to brush against Hecate’s.

‘I don’t believe that.’ She said, softly. ‘And I don’t believe that you do, either.’ She sat back on the sofa, and then her face was inscrutable. ‘I think the mermaids will sing to you, Hecate Hardbroom.’

The deluge passed, and the easy warmth of the early afternoon carried into evening, with Dimity, who was now considerably friendlier to Pippa than she had been before, dispatched to get the three of them pizza. In her absence, Hecate and Pippa had lapsed into comfortable silence together, Hecate reading  _ The Guardian _ (which had not published the offending photos) and Pippa dozing on the sofa, clearly worn out by the emotional toll the day had taken.

Hecate was midway through an article on the benefits of making one’s own yogurt when she felt a gentle pressure on her upper arm. She looked up in surprise. In the time it had taken Hecate to reach the ‘Lifestyle’ section, Pippa had fallen more deeply asleep, her head now lolling forward and onto Hecate’s shoulder. Firmly quelling the voice in the back of her mind informing her of just how bad an idea letting Pippa in had turned out to be, Hecate adjusted herself on the sofa, allowing the other woman to rest more comfortably against her.

Pippa sighed, and Hecate found herself forsaking her newspaper for the sight of the woman napping on her collarbone. For the delicate rise and fall of her shoulders, and the way her hair fell over her face, and the tiny frown that drew her eyebrows together in sleep. She felt how Pippa’s head slotted comfortably beneath her chin, felt her breathe in and out against her rib cage and wondered whether she would ever feel so at peace with someone again.

Just as she was having the thought, Dimity was opening the door noisily once more, and Pippa started awake, her head almost hitting Hecate’s chin.

‘What?’ She muttered sleepily, looking up at Hecate. She did not seem in any particular hurry to move. ‘Oh, hello. How long have I been asleep?’

‘Not long.’ Hecate’s voice was barely more than a whisper. She found herself unable to tear her eyes from Pippa’s upturned face, mapping out each feature, committing the flutter of her eyelashes and the roses of her cheeks to memory.

‘Alright then my darlings!’

Dimity’s voice sounded cheerfully into the living room, startling them both upright. Her roommate’s face was hidden behind three pizza boxes and a colossal tub of ice cream, and she continued through the living room, oblivious.

‘Pizza and ice cream party with Pippa Pentangle.’ She sang off-key, depositing the boxes on the coffee table with relish. ‘And they said I’d never make it in Hollywood.’

Hecate opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it. There seemed too many things for her to object to for it to be worth replying.

* * *

‘And the thing that’s so irritating is that now I’m so utterly fierce when it comes to nudity clauses.’

Between the three of them they had demolished the pizzas, (Pippa had decided that since she was in disgrace with her agent in any case, she may as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb,) and Dimity had announced that she was headed to the pub, giving Hecate a particularly irritating, knowing glance as she left. They had since started on the ice cream, and Pippa was now brandishing her spoon in Hecate’s direction, her cheeks pink with righteous fervour. Hecate only thought that it was a good thing that Pippa was regarding the incident with indignation, rather than her former abject misery. That, and that Pippa somehow looked even more beautiful when she was enraged.

‘Sorry?’ She blinked, diverting her thoughts away from Pippa Pentangle’s appearance. ‘You have clauses in your contract about nudity?’

‘Of course.’ Pippa tucked her legs beneath her on the sofa, reciting, ‘‘You may show the dent of the artist’s buttock, but neither cheek.’ Or: ‘If a stunt bottom is used, the artist must have full consultation.’ Hecate blinked.

‘You have a stunt bottom?’ Pippa’s smile took on a wicked look about it.

‘I could have a stunt bottom, yes.’ 

To her dismay. Hecate found herself beginning to blush. What had seemed a safe conversation topic was fast taking on a more flirtatious note. 

‘I – ah – are people tempted to go for better bottoms than their own?’

‘I would.’ Pippa opined, digging her way further into her bowl. ‘This is important stuff.’

Hecate blew out her cheeks.

‘It’s one hell of a job, isn’t it? What do you put on your passport: ‘Profession: Narcissus Nightshade’s bottom?’

‘Oh no.’ Pippa confided, through a mouthful of rocky road. ‘Narcissus does her own ass work.’

‘Right.’

‘I mean why wouldn’t she?’

‘Absolutely.’ Pippa finished her mouthful of ice-cream, her eyes crinkling in mirth. ‘It’s delicious.’

‘What is?’ Hecate asked in a deadpan voice. ‘The ice cream or Narcissus Nightshade’s bottom?’ Pippa began to laugh, putting down her spoon.

‘Both.’ She confirmed, darting out her tongue to capture the last trace of chocolate on the corner of her mouth. ‘Equally.’

Hecate swallowed heavily, narrowly avoiding choking on a chunk of cookie dough.

Eventually Pippa was unable to disguise her yawns, her afternoon nap appearing to have done nothing to offset her tiredness, and Hecate led her up to her bedroom. There had been a minor scuffle over which of them would take the sofa, which Hecate had won only by the narrowest of margins, although in fairness to Pippa her very obvious fatigue made it difficult for her to argue that she would not benefit from a good night’s sleep in an actual bed, rather than their beloved but worn leather sofa that Dimity had found for a suspiciously low price.

‘I’ve – um – I’ve put fresh sheets on the bed.’ She said, awkwardly. The landing was small, and there was very little space between them. ‘And there’s a spare pair of pyjamas in the top drawer.’

‘Thank you, Hecate.’ Pippa’s voice was soft, her eyes sincere. ‘Today has been a good day. I didn’t think it would be.’ Hecate felt heat rise to her cheeks. Pippa moved closer, and she thought maybe in that moment that if she lowered her head and caught Pippa’s lips with her own, the other woman would probably kiss her back.

But she had come to Hecate for help. And she couldn’t take advantage of that, no matter how dark Pippa’s eyes seemed in the lamp light.

‘I – um, bed awaits. The sofa! The sofa bed I meant. Um…’ Pippa cut off Hecate’s stammering, pressing forward on her tiptoes and kissing Hecate delicately on her cheek.

‘Good night, Hecate.’ Hecate closed her eyes, trying not to audibly inhale Pippa’s perfume.

‘Good night.’ She echoed, and Pippa smiled, looking over her shoulder at Hecate as she disappeared into Hecate’s bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Hecate stared at the door for a few moments, blinking herself back into reality, reaching out for the bannister behind her as if to steady herself. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Hecate made her way back downstairs, counting each step as though each were a reason why she should not go into her bedroom, grab the other woman’s face and kiss her like a hero in one of Pippa’s romantic films.

Once back in the sitting room she squeezed her eyes shut, running her hands through her hair and mouthing a few, choice swear words into the empty space. After half a minute of exorcising her feelings she exhaled, shook her head at herself once more and went over to the cupboard where they kept a duvet and pillow for whenever Julie was too tipsy to make it home.

‘Well, well, well.’

Hecate jumped half out of her skin, turning around and clutching at her chest with her hands. Dimity spun around in the living room chair, turning Hecate’s reading lamp until the light shone directly in her eyes.

‘Argh.’ Hecate winced, turning away. ‘When did you get back? And what are you doing?’

‘Interrogating you.’ Dimity said sternly, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. ‘So; she’s split up from her girlfriend. Correct or incorrect?’

‘I can’t keep up.’ Hecate groaned. ‘I thought you were against…whatever this is.’

‘Hecate. Correct, or incorrect?’

‘Correct.’

‘And she’s in our house.’

‘ _ My  _ house, yes.’

‘And you get on very well.’ Hecate rolled her eyes.

‘Is this going somewhere?’ Dimity held up her hands.

‘All I’m saying, is you know, isn’t this a good opportunity to – make a move?

‘Excuse me?’

‘What? You clearly like each other, she’s a nice girl who’s had a bit of a rough time – this is your perfect window to get in there and…’

‘ _ Dimity _ .’ Hecate hissed, casting an anxious eye upstairs. ‘She’s in trouble. For God’s sake, get a grip.’ Dimity sighed.

‘Alright, alright. You think it’s the wrong moment, fair enough.’ She paused, casting her eye upstairs. ‘Do you think I’ve got an in?’

‘Watch it, Drill…’

‘What? I thought we had a real connection, reading ‘Blue Bird’ and ‘Captain Britain’. Vibes were flying all over the place.’ 

Hecate opened her mouth to offer a very angry retort, but she caught the twinkle in Dimity’s eye just in time, and gave her flatmate a look potent enough to curdle milk instead. In the last few months of Dimity tiptoeing around her she had forgotten how easy it was for the other woman to wind her up.

‘Get out.’

Dimity grinned, springing to her feet and ruffling Hecate’s hair.

‘See you in the morning. Might be too late by then, but okay.’

‘Out.’ Hecate scowled, wriggling away from her roommate’s semi-embrace.

Once she was certain that Dimity had sauntered out of the room and was whistling her way upstairs, Hecate drew the curtains and turned off the reading light, cloaking the room in darkness. Feeling her way dimly to her sofa, she removed her blouse and skirt and slipped on an oversized t-shirt with the words  _ GB Hockey  _ emblazoned on it, which somehow in the course of her and Dimity living together had been repurposed as pyjamas. Her brow furrowed in thought, she peeled her tights from her legs and brought her knees up to her chin. 

Perhaps she was overthinking this. Perhaps Pippa was expecting her to go up to her room – perhaps she took Hecate’s insistence on taking the sofa as a polite rejection of the notion of anything romantic happening between them again.

But then again, perhaps Hecate was utterly misjudging the situation, and all that Pippa wanted from her - had  _ ever  _ wanted from her - was friendship. Perhaps that was a friendly kiss Pippa had just given her. Friends kissed each other’s cheeks all the time. Perhaps…’

Hecate’s spiral into uselessness was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the staircase; the creak of the living room door. Apparently Dimity had thought of a new thing to say to rile Hecate up.

‘Piss off!’ Hecate snarled, turning her head just in time to see Pippa’s startled expression, her face illuminated in the sliver of moonlight that had stolen its way in through their curtains. ‘No!’ 

She sprung to her feet, just as Pippa was beginning to look rather hurt. ‘No. Wait. I thought you were Dimity. I’m delighted you’re not.’

‘Oh.’ Pippa’s voice was soft, her forehead relaxing in relief.

She took a few tentative steps towards Hecate, and her face was drawn into shadow until she was an outline in the darkness. Hecate walked forward as one in a dream, reaching out for Pippa until she felt shoulders and arms and a waist, and she didn’t stop, running her hands from the curve of Pippa’s hips to the gentle hourglass of her figure and along the bumps of her spine. 

Pippa sighed, longing and breathless as she melted into Hecate’s touch until Hecate could feel eyelashes grazing her cheek, and the running of Pippa’s heartbeat beneath her night-shirt.

She bent her head, and Pippa’s lips were as soft and pliant as she remembered, moving gently beneath her own, her fingers tangling in Hecate’s hair and working against her scalp. Gone was the reckless giddiness of their last stolen kisses, or the tentative brushing of lips outside a Bayswater garden. Their mouths moved together, tender and unhurried, until Pippa broke off to smile against Hecate’s lips. But even then Hecate found she couldn't stop, her lips tracing the line of Pippa’s jaw down to her neck and down further to the crook of her shoulder, her hands coming up to unbutton Pippa’s nightshirt until she could feel the warmth of the other woman’s skin beneath her hands.

‘Hecate.’ Pippa whispered, her voice thrumming in desire, rising until she exhaled on a whimper. Hecate lowered her head, running her lips along the salt taste of Pippa’s clavicle until she could bear the distracted, needy sounds Pippa was making no longer and she kissed her again, her hands reaching to caress newly exposed skin. Pippa’s mouth opened beneath her own in a sigh, a strange, heady urgency blossoming between them as Hecate’s hands returned to Pippa’s buttons, fumbling in her desperation to feel as much of Pippa against her as she could.

Moments passed, minutes or hours or possibly days, and then Pipa was breaking away with a moan, her hair falling sensuously around her face, her lips swollen. Reaching out for Hecate’s hands, she laced their fingers together, and wordlessly she began to walk backwards, still half-clad in Hecate’s nightshirt, her eyes dazed and dark with lust. 

Hecate’s legs were as trembling and uncertain as a newborn deer as she followed her, allowed Pippa to pull her in further, to lead her blindly up the stairs and through the dim landing light and into her bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway Nike I'm very excited to read about what happens next...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is a bit of an idiot.

The glow from the lamppost outside cast just enough light through the curtains to play across Pippa’s hair and the long lines of her back as she shifted in her sleep, curling closer to Hecate, an arm securely over Hecate’s waist and her face peaceful and easy in slumber. Hecate - wide awake still, despite the length of the day and the tug of sleep on her relaxed (and slightly aching; it had been a while since she’d done..._ that_) muscles - drew the sheets up over them both, careful not to wake her. She closed her eyes and listened to Pippa’s quiet breathing as she held her, and wondered at how they had come to this. After the disaster at the hotel, after Amanda Honeydew, after _ everything _, she couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. 

They had made love twice, in Hecate’s bed, Pippa clinging to her and pressing kisses that tasted like apologies into her mouth and skin, whispering her name, trailing reverent fingers down her face and across her shoulders as she gazed up at Hecate with molten eyes. Hecate had lost herself in Pippa’s scent, her taste, her hot skin and breathy gasps, the sting of the crescent moons her nails dug into Hecate’s back as she came. She felt Pippa’s breath ghost against her neck, and smiled. Maybe it didn’t matter how they’d gotten here: they were here now - _ Pippa _ was here now - and Hecate felt more like herself than she had since the night she’d walked out of the Ritz with her heart in pieces. She idly stroked a hand down Pippa’s spine, under the sheet, and listened to her make a contented little noise against her shoulder. It all seemed a world away now. _ This time_, Hecate thought, _ This time, maybe we can make it different. _

* * *

When Hecate awoke, Pippa was already sitting up in bed beside her, the sheet wrapped demurely around her front, idly flicking through an old Margaret Atwood she’d rescued from Hecate’s bedside table. She grinned at Hecate as she surfaced, reaching over to tuck some of Hecate’s spectacularly ruffled hair away from her face with gentle fingers. 

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” Hecate mumbled, half-obscured by her pillow, gazing at the other woman with a mix of wonder and suspicion. Pippa laughed at whatever she could see of the expression.

“What?”

“I just can’t believe you’re really here,” Hecate admitted, stretching, unguarded as the last vestiges of sleep unwound from her body. She shuffled upright, mirroring Pippa’s position, sheet and all. “And I can’t believe I got to see you naked.”

Pippa’s voice was wry, as she retorted, “You and every other person in the country.”

“God, yes, sorry.” Hecate grimaced, as she abruptly recalled the reason for Pippa’s unexpected arrival. She felt Pippa’s shoulder, pressed against her own, rise and fall in a half-hearted shrug.

“What is it about the British public and nudity, anyway? Why is it such a colossal deal, really? You’d think no one had ever seen a naked woman before, like we never moved past the bloody Victorian era. They’re just _ breasts_. What’s so bloody interesting about them anyway?”

“Um,” Hecate supplied.

“No, seriously!” Pippa continued, cutting her off, working up a good head of indignation now. “Every second person in the world has got them. Probably more than that when you think about it! And when you get right down to it, fundamentally, they’re for milk, and your mum’s got them, and you can see them for free on the internet every day. People must have seen thousands of them, really, so I ask you - what’s the big deal?”

At some point, Hecate’s attention had drifted to where the rumpled sheet was wrapped rather enticingly around the subject of Pippa’s declamation. She remembered how she had slowly unbuttoned Pippa’s nightshirt a few hours before, revealing an expanse of tanned skin, and soft, perfect curves; how Pippa had arched under her hands and tangled her fingers in her hair, as Hecate moved her mouth down across her collarbone and into the valley between her breasts; how she had gasped softly as Hecate’s palms trailed after until she could feel the warm, smooth weight of-

“Are you listening to me?”

“What?” Hecate glanced up, well and truly caught, and flushed. “Breasts. Right. No, beats me.”

Pippa burst out laughing, and shot a pointed gaze at where Hecate had crossed her own arms over her chest to keep the sheet from slipping. “Hmmm. Well, maybe I can’t say I’m _ entirely _ immune to the appeal, myself.” Hecate’s flush intensified, and she had to look away, even as a returning smile tugged at her lips. Pippa was quiet for a moment, and then her voice came tentatively from across the bed.

“Rita Hayworth used to say: ‘they go to bed with Gilda, they wake up with me.’ Do you feel like that?”

Hecate frowned, puzzled, feeling like she should grasp the reference more quickly than she did. “Gilda?”

“Her most famous part,” Pippa elaborated. “She found men went to bed with the dream, and they didn't like it when they woke up with the reality. Do you feel that way with me?”

Hecate stared at her for a minute, not sure how to reply - how to explain to Pippa that she had _ never _been Gilda to Hecate, even before they tumbled into bed together; that she had never looked at her and wanted some part she’d played, or the untouchably bright Hollywood star who pulled the world in her wake. Somehow, ‘But I’d never even seen your films before we met’ didn’t seem like quite the right thing to say in this moment, so she opted for a different kind of honesty, instead.

“You are lovelier this morning than you have ever been,” she said, quiet and sincere. There was a flicker of something fragile and hopeful in Pippa’s eyes, as she searched Hecate’s face for a moment, and found whatever she was looking for.

“Oh.”

They each held the other’s gaze for a few moments, and just as Hecate felt the charge begin to build again between them, Pippa’s face suddenly brightened, and she hopped out of bed, pulling on her discarded nightshirt and buttoning it up haphazardly.

“I’ll be back!”

“Watch out for Dimity!” Hecate called after her, aware that her flatmate tended to materialise unexpectedly in some truly disturbing sleepwear. She settled back into bed, and was on the verge of drigiting off again when the door clattered open and Pippa backed in, bearing a tray of toast and two cups of tea.

“Breakfast in bed!” she announced cheerfully, and Hecate’s stomach rumbled as she caught the smell of hot butter and fresh bread. “Or lunch. Or brunch. Whatever.”

Hecate grabbed her own abandoned t-shirt and slipped it over her head as she wriggled upright, taking the tray from Pippa’s hands as the other woman repositioned herself cross-legged on the bed facing her. 

“Can I stay a bit longer?” Pippa asked, her tone light, but her expression tentative. Taking a bite of toast and a mouthful of perfectly prepared, scalding hot tea, Hecate smiled blissfully and answered,

“Stay forever.”

Pippa beamed, reaching for a slice of toast. “Damn! I forgot the jam!” She sprang up once again, headed for the kitchen, right as the doorbell sounded. Hecate sighed.

“I’ll get the jam, you get the door!” Pippa skipped off as Hecate grudgingly swung her feet out of bed. She grabbed her black dressing gown from its hook and wrapped it tightly around herself as she approached the front door, yawning widely. She tugged a hand through her hair, but dismissed the effort it would take to find a brush to run through it. She wasn’t expecting anyone, which meant it was probably Julie, or Mildred, and they’d seen her hair in the morning before. She turned the Yale lock and opened the door.

The roar of noise and flashes of light that assailed her nearly sent her stumbling straight back into the hall, as the entire street exploded with journalists, cameras, and microphones. She heard her name, and Pippa’s, and the clamouring of questions - ‘_Is__ Pippa inside? How long have you been together? Does Amanda know? Is she coming back to England? How did you meet? Where’s Pippa now?’ _

Hecate jerked backwards and slammed the door, heart hammering, feeling the breath catch in her chest. “Jesus Christ!”

“What is it?” Pippa, still clad in only a nightshirt, had meandered through to the hall, holding a jam jar, and smiling guilelessly at Hecate as she came towards her. Hecate choked on her answer, still trying to regain her composure. “What are you up to?” Pippa laughed, as she reached past Hecate to grasp the doorknob.

“No!” Hecate managed to get out, too late, as the rush of light and noise burst through the open doorway once more. ‘_PIPPA! PIPPA!’ _Pippa was quicker than she to close it up again, her face leached of colour instantly. 

“Oh my god.”

“Yes.”

Pippa spun around, and looked Hecate up and down, taking in her tousled hair and dressing gown.

“And they got a picture of you, dressed like that? And me, dressed like this?”

“Undressed like this, yes,” Hecate breathed out, finally, feeling mortification flood her chest and neck and begin a sure crawl up towards her face. The _ national press _ were outside her door, and they’d taken a picture of her in her _ dressing gown_.

“Jesus,” Pippa hissed, and whirled on her heel, aiming for the living room. Hecate followed her numbly. Pippa retrieved her phone and jabbed at it furiously, avoiding Hecate’s eyes as she raised it to her ear. Through the clawing embarrassment, Hecate vaguely heard a female voice pick up on the other end.

“It's Pippa. The press are here. No, there are hundreds of them. My brilliant plan was not-so-brilliant after all. Yes; I know, I know. Just get me out of here.” Her voice was sharp, shoulders tense, and all the easy luxury of the morning gone. She hung up with the press of a button and scrubbed her hands over her face. “Fuck.”

“Morning, my loves!” Dimity’s sing-song greeting floated down the stairs towards them, incongruous in the fraught atmosphere, and as she appeared Hecate’s earlier fears were all realised. She was wearing a shocking pink onesie with the hood pulled up to reveal a happy, rabbitty face and two floppy bunny ears, a fluffy white tail on her backside. She grinned, an apparition on the bottom step. Pippa looked at her in astonishment, and then let out a noise that could have been a laugh or a sob, or possibly both. She pushed past Dimity, and rushed upstairs. Dimity turned back to Hecate in confusion.

“What-?”

“I’ll deal with it,” Hecate snapped, and pushed past. “Just stay here. And for god’s sake, don’t go outside.”

“Why not?”

“Just take my word for it!”

Even as she headed upstairs, she heard her flatmate disregard her completely and open the door. There was the baying and clangour again, and Hecate knew, deep in her soul, that she’d be waking up the next morning to pictures of Dimity Drill - former Team GB golden-child, on her doorstep, dressed like a demented Harvey - on the front page of the ‘_Daily Express’ _, sandwiched between headlines about Pippa Pentangle. It was hard to see how this could get any worse, but then, Hecate knew to never underestimate the power of a really, really bad day.

* * *

When she got to her room, Pippa was already mostly dressed, her face grim, pulling her shoes on with a tremble in her arms. She looked up as Hecate entered. “How are you doing?” she asked, at the precise moment Hecate enquired, “Are you alright?”

Pippa huffed a humourless laugh as she returned her attention to her shoes. Hecate dropped down onto the bed, facing away from her. “I don’t know how I’m doing. I don’t know what happened.” She was a private person, by nature and by choice, and the violation of a herd of reporters appearing at her home to take _ photographs _ of her had shaken her badly.

There was a conspicuous silence from the other side of the bed, and Hecate turned her head to find Pippa gazing cynically at her. 

“Don’t you?”

Hecate’s heart-rate, which had only just begun to settle from her fright at the door, picked up again unpleasantly as she met Pippa’s cool stare. Her mouth felt suddenly dry.

“What do you mean?”

Pippa looked away again, finished fastening her shoe, stood up and brushed her hands down her thighs.

“Nothing.”

“No, not nothing,” Hecate countered, feeling exasperation start to creep in alongside her already-shredded nerves. “What do you _ mean? _”

Pippa sighed heavily, and put her hands on her hips as she faced Hecate defensively. “I’m just saying, doesn’t it seem a bit odd to you that the entire British press just woke up this morning and thought, 'Hey, I know where Pippa Pentangle is! She's in that house with the blue door in Notting Hill!'”

Hecate was horrified. “You think I-?”

“No,” Pippa cut her off, “Not you.” It took Hecate a moment to catch-up, and when she did, she barked out an incredulous laugh.

“Dimity?”

“Yes, Dimity.”

“That’s not true.” Hecate shook her head, absolutely certain. Dimity was her friend and she was a lot of things - nosy; irritating; _here_. But this? Dimity wouldn’t. She _ wouldn’t_.

“Really? Then how, Hecate?” her companion demanded. Hecate shook her again again, reflexively, as she refused to even consider the possibility that Dimity would have quite literally sold Pippa out. At the same time, she couldn’t seem to come up with a reasonable explanation as to who would. 

“I don’t-”

“Look, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come here. I know what this is like. I’m a great way to make a quick cash grab. Your furry friend out there probably thought, ‘hey, I know a way to make a few quid and get my name back in the papers!’ She’s not had a lot of publicity now her Olympic days are past her, has she?”

The acidity of Pippa’s tone made Hecate clench her fists. “That is spectacularly unfair.”

“Who knows, it might help her secure a few more of those clients with kids who need coaching.” Pippa snorted, bitterly. “‘Learn hockey from the woman who got Pippa Pentangle to go outside in her fucking underwear!’”

“I went out in my ‘fucking underwear’, too,” Hecate gritted out, a fresh wave of humiliation staining her face. “Tomorrow, there are going to be pictures of me in every newspaper from here to Timbuktu, aren’t there?” Pippa winced, sparing her some sympathy in her personal public-relations catastrophe.

“Probably, yes. I’m so sorry.” Hecate pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, as a sharp headache announced its presence just to top everything off. Oh god. 

“This is such a mess,” Pippa sighed, sitting down next to her. “I come to you to protect myself against more crappy gossip and now I've landed in it all over again, and brought you with me.” She sounded so disconsolate that despite her frustration with her adamant accusations of Dimity, Hecate softened. She was about to reach over and take Pippa’s hand, tell her to stay calm and they’d work out what to do next, when Pippa concluded, “For God's sake, I've got a girlfriend,” and Hecate’s stomach plummeted. 

“You do?” Pippa looked up at her, and the startled guilt in her eyes was all the confirmation Hecate needed, even as Pippa began to backpedal,

“Well, I...I mean, as far as they’re concerned I do…”

The rest of her sentence was arrested by the shrill ring of the doorbell, and Hecate abruptly stood and went to the window, turning her back on the wide-eyed blonde. “It looks like a chauffeur,” she stated bluntly.

“Hecate-” 

Hecate couldn’t listen. She moved across the room, out the door and down the stairs without giving Pippa a chance to finish. Dimity was nowhere to be found in the hall or the living room, and Hecate was profoundly grateful, unsure what her reaction might be to any questions her housemate would have about the situation. Her chest hurt, she was agitated, and she was exhausted, despite the fact she’d been awake barely half an hour. Had it only been that long since she’d woken up to Pippa’s smile, her warm presence in her bed?

_ ‘For God’s sake, I’ve got a girlfriend.’ _ And Hecate knew, with absolute certainty, that she couldn’t do this again.

“Hecate,” Pippa had followed her of course, and she collected her jacket and phone even as she spoke, desperately trying to hold Hecate’s eye. “Look, I’m sorry. I know how-...It's just that I've dealt with this garbage for ten years now, you've had it for ten minutes. Our perspectives are different.”

_ Our perspectives. _ For example, thought Hecate, her perspective had been that sleeping with Pippa last night had meant something, in the grand scheme of things. Apparently, that wasn’t Pippa’s perspective at all. She hadn’t come here for Hecate. She’d come here to lay low, and now that was out of the window, she was leaving again. Leaving Hecate, again. Suddenly, Hecate was so angry she could hardly bear it.

“You know what this is?” she bit out, suddenly and fiercely, so that Pippa startled a little. “This is crazy behaviour. Insane. All this? This stuff doesn’t _ matter _ . You know what matters _ ? _ My friend-” and she gestured wildly in a vague direction to indicate Dimity - “had an incredible athletic career ahead of her, and she twisted her knee, and now she has to scrape-by working for bastard executives and their bratty little children just to keep a connection to something that she loved. My best friend is a struggling single-mother counting every penny she has to put her daughter into university, even though she never had any opportunities in life herself. The woman who’s been like a mother to _ me _ fell...she fell, and cracked her hip and now she has to hobble about on a cane and feel beholden to people when she’s always been the most independent woman I ever knew, and she hates it. So don’t you _ dare _ talk to _ me _ about _ perspective._”

She was panting by the time she’d finished, and she and Pippa stared at each other across the gulf of the living room, which seemed so much wider than it had the day before. 

“You’re right, of course you’re right. It’s just...these stories get filed,” Pippa began, weakly, her voice on the edge of tearful. “There was already a scandal, and now every time someone writes something about me, they’ll dig up these photos, and I’ll be-”

“You’ll be Pippa Pentangle,” Hecate said, weary and dull. “And I’ll just be some woman who screwed Pippa Pentangle. I get it, thanks.”

The doorbell rang again, high and insistent, and Hecate walked past Pippa’s frozen form, down the few stairs into the hall, and along to the door, where she rested her hand on the lock and waited for Pippa to catch her up. They looked at each other for a long moment.

“Last night,” Pippa managed, and Hecate closed her eyes, waiting for the final blow. “If you don’t mind, I won’t regret it.” Hecate glanced up in surprise, hurt and confused and uncertain, and Pippa reached out to brush her hand where it rested over the lock. “I’ll...always be glad. That I came to stay.”

With that, she pressed Hecate’s fingers to turn the lock, and as she pulled the door inwards Hecate caught a flash of a brunette woman wrapping her arm around Pippa’s shoulders as Pippa slid her enormous sunglasses over her eyes, and a huge man hustling her through the press of journalists and news cameras towards a blacked-out car parked at the foot of the steps. Hecate shut the door before any of the cameras thought to swing inwards. She made it as far as the three stairs back up to the living room before she felt her legs buckle, and she sat down heavily with a thud, and stared blankly at the white paint on the back of the front door, feeling wrung out and dazed and numb.

She wasn’t sure exactly how many minutes she was there, before the soft padding of cushioned feet approached behind her. There was a brief hesitation, and then Dimity sat down on the step above Hecate’s. Hecate was vaguely aware of a fuzzy pink knee appearing on either side of her waist, before similarly colourful, fleecy arms wrapped themselves around her middle. Her own hands hanging limply between her knees, Hecate didn’t even try to resist the embrace like she might normally. Dimity’s chin came to rest lightly on her shoulder, and Hecate just breathed in rhythm with her friend for a long minute, never taking her eyes off the door. Eventually, non-accusingly, voice barely more than a murmur, she had to ask,

“Was it you?”

Dimity’s arms tightened, and Hecate’s heart sank as she felt eyelashes brush against her cheek, Dimity directing her gaze to the carpet.

“I told Arabella. I met her down the pub. We were team-mates, and I thought...I suppose, I didn’t. Think, that is. Hecate, I-”

Hecate lifted her hands and gripped Dimity’s arms where they encircled her, squeezing and leaning back into the unasked-for hug that, right now, she thought she might spiral apart without.

“It’s alright,” she whispered.

_ I’ve got a girlfriend. _

It doesn’t matter, anyway.

They sat there, in silence, for a long time.

* * *

_ Ain't no sunshine when she's gone _

_ It's not warm when she's away _

_ Ain't no sunshine when she's gone _

_ And she's always gone too long _

_ Anytime she goes aw- _

  
  


Hecate grabbed the TV remote and resolutely clicked it off. Dimity had left it running ‘VH1 Classics’, and she was decidedly not in the mood for love songs, breakup songs, songs about people leaving, or any music composed after 1820, frankly. She hadn’t been for a good while, now.

Stepping out into the street, Hecate turned up her collar against the wind and sighed as she began the short walk to work. It had been months since she had woken up to find her house surrounded by paparazzi, months since Pippa had left in a flurry of cameras and boom-mics, but Hecate had never quite rid herself of the tension that had seized hold of her that morning. The autumn had progressed in a series of dull, cloudy days, rainy and chill, a pathetic fallacy that suited Hecate’s miserable mood. Dimity had tiptoed around her for a while, had even offered to find somewhere else to live, but Hecate had refused. It wasn’t Dimity’s fault, not really, and slowly their living situation had settled back to normal, as winter swept in icy flurries across the streets, and Christmas approached. 

She’d spent the day with Julie and Mildred, and listened to Mildred’s enthusiastic recounting of her first term at university, all her new friends, and the English Lit. classes she was taking. She’d smiled where she was supposed to smile, and hadn’t thought about how unexpected a hole Mildred’s departure had left in her shop and in her life. She was the empty-nester, she’d complained to Gwen and Algie at New Year, before biting her tongue at her insensitivity. Gwen had just laughed and hugged her, and bid her to eat more, while she tapped back and forward from the kitchen with her cane, liberating bottles of wine from the fridge as she did so. In January, she’d recruited another, local student as a part-time assistant, just for the company, really. 

She was glad of her in February, when the heating packed in at the bookshop, and they had to take it in turns to run out for teas and hot food, and half-hour breaks at Hecate’s flat just to warm up a little in between customers. Not that there were many. There had been a brief burst of them after the whole press business, interested only in getting a glance at Hecate and whispering among themselves, perhaps hoping that Pippa herself would make an appearance, but it had swiftly dwindled under Hecate’s glare and her obvious unapproachability. The weeks had rolled by, cold and quiet, while Hecate worked and slept and read old books, avoiding the cinemas and the television and the glossy magazines and red-tops that lined the counter of the newsagent where she bought ‘_ The Guardian’ _ in the mornings. Waited for something she couldn’t quite identify, as April appeared on the horizon in scattered sunshine and spring showers.

_ The cruellest month _, she thought, and then cursed herself for her sentimentality, recalling Pippa’s voice wrapping around the words of the poem that first day they’d met in the shop. She shoved the door open as she arrived, listening to the little bell clatter in alarm, and held herself rigid as she stamped towards the back office. Sybil was already there, and she raised her platinum, teenage head at Hecate’s approach, and wordlessly went to put the kettle on.

She’d barely gotten her hands warmed up around the mug when the bell chimed again, and she looked up to see Julie and Dimity hustle in, the former grinning widely and the latter wearing the almost-permanent look of chagrin she’d had since last year. Hecate lifted an eyebrow at them both.

“Have we got something for you!” Julie declared without preamble. “Something that will make you love me so much, you’ll want to hug me everyday for the rest of your life.”

“Gracious,” Hecate said, dryly. “And what’s that?”

“The phone number of Pippa Pentagle’s agent in London,” Julie announced, and Hecate fumbled her tea, almost spilling it on the cash register. “And her agent in New York. You think about her all the time - now, you can ring her!”

Hecate was stupefied for a moment, and stared at Julie, uncomprehending. Julie _ knew _ what had happened with Pippa, she knew how Hecate had been feeling for the past few months. This seemed uncharacteristically insensitive, but as she looked into Julie’s earnest eyes, she realised her friend just desperately wanted to help, so she reached out and took the proffered bit of paper. 

“Oh. Well, thanks. That’s great.”

“It is great, isn’t it!” Julie beamed, and then turned and manhandled Dimity (who looked a lot less certain about the wisdom of all this) back in the direction of the door. “Anyway, I’ll see you tonight! Oh, hiya Sybil, love! Nice cardi! Bye!”

Hecate glanced back at her assistant, who was hovering unsurely in the doorway to the office, and sighed. “We’d better get opened up. Flip the sign, will you?” Sybil nodded meekly and crossed to the door, as Hecate stared at the two numbers scrawled on the paper in Julie’s careless handwriting. ‘_ New York’, _ one was indeed labelled, and the other ‘ _ London!!!’. _She heard Sybil turn the sign on the door over to ‘Open, and switch the small Bakelite radio on before she disappeared among the shelves to do whatever it was she did there. Music drifted lowly across the shop to where Hecate stood, considering.

_ Ain't no sunshine when she's gone _

_ And this house just ain't no home _

_ Anytime she goes away _

Carefully, gently, Hecate folded up the paper, dropped it in the wastepaper basket, and turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *mutters at Clio about seasons and vignettes and long-shots*


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pippa is in town again...

_ S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse _

_ A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, _

_ Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. _

_ Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo _

_ Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero, _

_ Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo. _

‘I have a little speech to make.’

Gwen was tapping at her glass with a spoon, and the conversation around the table faded as everyone turned to look at her. They had all of them – even Mildred, back from her second term – gathered for the closing of  _ Mabel’s _ , after Maria Tapioca had announced that she was finally giving up on her long-dreamed of establishment and selling to the highest bidder. It was an awful blow for the woman, who had poured all her knowledge and skill and love into the place for a year, only to see it crumble before her eyes. Maria had brushed their sympathy away, insisting that keeping the place open was more trouble than it was worth anyway, and instead demanding that they come for one last meal in her now-gutted restaurant, for which she had pulled out all the stops.

‘I won’t stand up – because I can’t…be bothered.’ There was laughter at that, but she held up her hand to silence it, turning to look at Maria. ‘Exactly a year ago today, this woman here started the finest restaurant in London.’

‘Yeah right.’ Maria grumbled, looking daggers at the rest of the table. Hecate was always rather glad when Maria deigned to host or attend one of their gatherings – it relieved her of the burden of being the grumpiest person in the room.

‘Unfortunately,’ Gwen continued, as if uninterrupted, ‘no one ever came to eat here.’

‘Uncultured  _ goras _ .’ Maria opined, taking a sip of red wine as she appeared to contemplate the poor palates of the entirety of West London. ‘Paying through the nose to eat swill at posh, high-end restaurants, and not appreciating the real thing when it comes along.’

‘Not to mention we’ll have to find somewhere new to eat.’ Julie added, despondently. There was a general murmur of assent. An independent restaurant in Notting Hill with mains priced at less than thirty pounds per head was a sad rarity, and Hecate privately wondered whether they would be able to afford anywhere that wasn’t a part of some tasteless American chain. But Gwen was still looking at the malcontent chef, her eyes full and kind.

‘Don’t take it to heart, Maria.’ She said, gently. Maria’s face, which had been set in a heavy scowl, cracked with misery, and she scrubbed at her eyes, sniffing. ‘The more I think about things, the more I see no rhyme or reason in life.’ She looked around the room. ‘No one knows why some things work out and some things don’t – why some of us get lucky and some of us…’

‘Get fired.’ Dimity interjected, looking gloomily into the bottom of her wine glass. Hecate turned to her in amazement.

‘No!’

‘Yep.’ Dimity was looking a little sheepish, still not meeting anyone’s eye. ‘The club wasn’t too happy about the bunny photoshoot – and then to top it all off, I lost it at one of the kids, and her mum threatened to pull her donation unless they sacked me. So, it was an easy choice for them in the end.’

Hecate felt guilt swell horribly in her stomach. It hadn’t crossed her mind that the worst morning of her own life might have had consequences for Dimity. A hush descended over the table, and even Maria was looking anxiously in her direction.

‘Dimity…’ Hecate began. But at the worry in her tone, Dimity looked up, and her grin, though rueful, appeared genuine.

‘Oh, don’t feel too sorry for me. I mean, the job was basically an excuse for me not to have to grow up. I was pretty crap at it, wasn’t I?’ At her words, the tension which had arisen around the table seemed to break, as each of them rushed to assure Dimity that she would find work in no time, and that she was far better off not having to cater to the whims of Chelsea brats and their Sloane Ranger parents anyway. Eventually Maria cut in, raising her voice and her glass above the hubbub of the table.

‘To Dimity Drill! The worst coach in Notting Hill!’

‘And to Maria Tapioca!’ Dimity raised her glass in reply. ‘The worst restaurateur!’ The group toasted the pair of them, Algie and Mildred drumming their hands on the table in a raucous fanfare.

‘Well.’ Julie’s voice eventually made itself heard through the din, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright as she leant forward with the air of someone imparting great news. ‘Since it’s an evening of announcements, I’ve also got one. I’ve decided to get engaged.’

A stunned silence descended on the room, broken only by Dimity appearing to choke on her mouthful of wine, turning bright red as she wheezed and coughed and gasped for breath. Gwen patted her on the back, looking sympathetic.

‘I’m sorry?’ Hecate asked, bewildered, wondering if she had misunderstood. Julie nodded happily.

‘I’ve found myself a nice, kind woman – with questionable choice in sleepwear – who I know is going to make me happy for the rest of my life.’ Gwen gave a sharp gasp, but Hecate only frowned, feeling out of the loop and cross with it.

‘But we don’t know anything about this person.’ She argued, leaning forward and resting on her forearms. ‘I mean for heaven’s sake, I am your…your…well, I think I deserve to know about their prospects, for Mildred’s sake at least.’ Mildred made a noise of protest, but Julie placed a quelling hand on her daughter’s arm.

‘Well…’ She hedged, her eyes sparkling as though she were homing in on the punchline of a particularly good joke. ‘They’ve recently joined the ranks of the unemployed, unfortunately. But they’re a rather enterprising person, so I have high hopes for their future.’ She turned to Dimity, and finally the penny dropped for Hecate, who looked between the two of them, her mouth falling open as Julie continued. ‘It’s you, by the way. In case that wasn’t obvious, you daft thing.’

In Hecate’s defence, Dimity seemed equally as flabbergasted as she caught her breath, still spluttering a little.

‘Me?’ She asked eventually, her voice coming out on a squeak.

‘Yeah.’ Julie smiled tenderly, and as Hecate scrutinised the pair, she wondered how long she had been oblivious to the two of them looking at each other with such obvious love and devotion in their eyes. ‘What do you think?’

Dimity started, as if she had only just realised that Julie’s question required a verbal answer.

‘Um, yeah.’ Her face blossomed into a smile of unadulterated happiness, and she added a cheeky, loving: ‘Groovy.’

Julie rolled her eyes and leant in to kiss her, wrapping her arms around Dimity’s neck.

After that, the table descended into chaos. Hands were shaken all round, Maria burst into tears as she wished them every happiness, and Algernon broke out the champagne; filling all their glasses, proposing toasts, refilling their glasses and then proposing more toasts until they were all light-headed and giddy. Even Hecate found herself unable to keep a smile off of her face, despite Dimity slinging an arm around her shoulder and reeling off a long, arduous list of Hecate’s duties as her best woman. Mildred meanwhile merely got out of her chair and hugged the the two women fiercely, informing the rest of them that she had known that her mother would marry Dimity from the moment Hecate had introduced them over two years ago, and that the only surprise was how long it had taken the two of them to get on with it.

After a while, when they had all calmed down and the champagne had been replaced by wine once more, attention inevitably turned towards Hecate.

‘So…’ Julie began innocuously, not quite meeting her eye. ‘Do you have any announcements for us, Hecate?’ Hecate felt six pairs of inquiring eyes fix on her, and she groaned inwardly, wondering how best to proceed without dampening the party beyond repair, and hurting Julie’s feelings to boot.

‘Well – I suppose I ought to begin by apologising for my behaviour for the last six months.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘I have, as you know, been rather…down in the mouth.’

‘That’s an understatement.’ Algie interjected. ‘There are dead people on better form.’ Gwen hit him lightly with her handbag, motioning for Hecate to continue. ‘But anyway, I wish to make it clear that I’ve turned a corner.’ She regarded them all meaningfully, hoping they would catch her meaning without her having to beleaguer the point. ‘Henceforward, I intend to be  _ impressively  _ happy.’ The  _ without Pippa  _ was left unsaid, but seemed to hang in the air around them as Julie’s smile slipped off her face, and some of Dimity’s old guilt seemed to return to her eyes. Seeing the mood take a downward turn, Hecate turned pleading eyes to Gwen, who took immediate, decisive action.

‘Right, ladies – and Algernon.’ She clapped her hands, startling their cohort from a slightly melancholic reverie. ‘Enough wallowing. We need music, we need more wine, and we need both of them now.’

Which was how Maria ended up uncovering the piano at the front of the restaurant, thumping out the few tunes she remembered – which was very few. So few, in fact, that Hecate was fairly certain this was the fifth time she had heard ‘Blue Moon’ that evening. Not that anyone else seemed to mind. In fact Algernon, with a bottle of wine in hand, had even begun to sing along, despite not seeming to know any lyrics other than ‘Blue Moon’, whilst Julie and Dimity were slow dancing in the middle of the room, Julie’s head on Dimity’s shoulder and Dimity’s hand on the small of Julie’s back. Only Mildred and Gwen remained at the table; Gwen half-asleep with wine and excitement. Occasionally Gwen would lift her head from where she had buried it in her arms and look around her, as if surprised that she was still there, but after some cajoling from Mildred would then take a few sips of water and resume her position on the table.

Hecate meanwhile had retired to a corner of the room, perched comfortably on a window seat and alternately surveying the room and looking out at the night outside. There were a few stars still visible through approaching clouds, the last sliver of the waning crescent still luminous in the sky.  _ Mabel’s  _ looked out onto the Carmelite Monastery Gardens, and in losing herself in the darkness of the surrounding trees she could imagine that she was away from the noise and blare of London and somewhere wooded and green and peaceful.

Perhaps she should move to the country. Sell her shop and take a job as a librarian somewhere in the Home Counties. Get a cottage, miles away from anywhere else with a garden; get a car to do her weekly shopping, and perhaps even a cat to keep her company in her old age.  Perhaps if she were to be in true isolation, the sense of loss that seemed to have settled as a permanent companion would feel less overwhelming than it did in this wretched city, where people seemed to be constantly reaching out to each other and making connections.

‘You alright, Hecate?’ 

Hecate looked up. Mildred was standing in front of her, looking at her in slight concern. She realised she must strike rather a sad, solitary figure in the corner by herself, gazing up at the moon.

‘Perfectly alright, Mildred.’ Her voice was low and contained, but from the look on the girl’s face, Mildred wasn’t buying her impassivity for a second. Not wishing to delve into the subject any further, she cast her eyes around for another conversation topic – and her eyes fell on the bag slung over Mildred’s shoulder, the denim jacket folded in her arms.

‘Are you off?’ Hecate asked. Mildred nodded, coming to sit next to Hecate on the window seat.

‘I promised Maud we’d go out at least once before I go back – but I wouldn’t have missed this evening.’ She leant her head on Hecate’s shoulder, looking across the room at where Julie and Dimity were dancing, their steps slow and their hands entwined. ‘Mum seems really happy.’

‘She does, doesn’t she.’ Hecate said softly, following Mildred’s gaze. Julie was whispering something in Dimity’s ear as they danced, and Dimity was looking down at her in awed disbelief, clearly still struggling to comprehend how she had managed to land Julie Hubble as a wife. Hecate felt her heart ache a little in her chest, unused to feeling such a potent combination of emotions all at once and chiding herself inwardly for most of them. But as if reading her thoughts, Mildred leant further into her, cuddling up to Hecate’s side in much the same way she had done as a small child. Slightly ridiculous, really, given that she was now nineteen and almost as tall as she was, but Hecate felt a pang of nostalgia, nonetheless.

‘You’re getting too old for this.’ She objected half-heartedly, unable to muster a note of reproach in her tone. Mildred laughed.

‘Maybe I should push my luck and ask you for a bedtime story, too.’ She teased. ‘Once upon a time there was a witch called Mildred Hubble, and she was the worst witch there ever was…’ Hecate smiled.

‘I can’t believe you remember those.’

‘Of course I do.’ Mildred nudged her shoulder. ‘Part fantasy, part moral lesson about whatever chaos I had caused that day.’

‘You were an incredibly chaotic child.’ Hecate pointed out.

‘I know.’ Mildred covered Hecate’s hand with her own, playing with her rings. ‘You and mum, you brought me up. I mean, I know mum was…mum. Practically superwoman, raised me single-handedly, never let me feel like I was missing out on anything. And I’m so glad she has Dimity now. But you were always such a constant in my life, and I know you made sacrifices for me as well. I want to see you happy too, Hecate.’ Hecate looked down at Mildred in deep suspicion.

‘And what precisely does that mean?’ Mildred bit her lip, but after a moment’s hesitation pulled her phone from her jacket pocket, opening Instagram and scrolling until she stopped on a picture of Hampstead Heath bedecked in trailers and lights and production regalia. Hecate stiffened, her stomach tightening in anticipation.

‘She’s filming down there at the moment.’ Mildred added, unnecessarily. ‘Pippa Pentangle.’

‘What of it?’ Hecate bit back, sharply. ‘I told everyone; I’m fine.’

‘You’re over her?’ Mildred raised an eyebrow in disbelief. ‘What, given her up completely?’

‘Exactly.’

‘No feelings at all?’

Hecate disengaged herself from Mildred, settling herself agitatedly and training a glare in the girl’s direction. As ever, she appeared to remain impervious to the chill of Hecate’s gaze.

‘None whatsoever.’ She gritted out.

Shaking her head, Mildred swiped left, and Hecate let out a small, unguarded sound as for the first time in over six months she found herself looking at Pippa Pentangle, her hair swept and piled on top of her head, her shoulders bare in her pink crinoline. It was a tourist snap, grainy and ridiculously filtered, but still Hecate thought how tired Pippa seemed, looking as though she might snap in a strong breeze. She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding, pushing the phone away and turning her head, hastily blinking back anything that might have dared to well up in her eye.

‘So, not over her then.’ Mildred said, quietly. Hecate didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure whether her voice would in fact work around the lump in her throat. ‘Hecate, Mum told me about what happened; about how you fought. But I think that if you don’t at least go and see her, then you might regret it for the rest of your life. At least if you go, you’ll know whether it really is –  _ her _ .’

Hecate exhaled on a shaky breath, looking across at where Mildred was observing her patiently, clearly waiting for Hecate to reach a conclusion.

‘When did you get so grown-up?’ She grumbled instead, reaching out to straighten one of the girl’s plaits. Mildred grinned.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll come around and blow up your kitchen, and then you’ll see I haven’t changed all that much.’ And in spite of herself, Hecate found herself laughing, her first genuine laugh in quite some time.

‘See that you do.’ She told the girl in faux-stern tones, and Mildred’s smile broadened.

‘Love you, HB.’ She kissed Hecate’s cheek, and Hecate felt the corners of her mouth quirk up at the old nickname, bestowed upon her when Mildred was still too young to get her mouth around the consonants of ‘Hecate’. ‘See you soon.’

And then she got to her feet, shrugging on her jacket and making the rounds of goodbyes around the room before heading out of the door and off to whichever West London house party awaited, her braids swinging behind her. For a brief moment, Hecate saw her at every age she had ever been; from toddler to schoolgirl to teenager. Had time really passed so quickly? It did not seem so long ago that Mildred was climbing onto her lap and clamouring for a bedtime story. And yet here she was; almost the same age Hecate had been the first time she met Julie Hubble’s little daughter. In an instant she saw herself turning forty, and then fifty, and then sixty; Mildred long since grown up, Julie and Dimity long since married. She saw herself sitting alone at her kitchen table, her face lined and her hair grey, thinking bitterly of a time when she had made love to Pippa Pentangle.

Shaking her head angrily at herself, Hecate turned her gaze back towards the night sky. The moon was now obscured behind a cloud, the first drops of an April shower patterning against the window and a grey fog curling about the restaurant. She should be making a move home; the rain would only get worse from hereon. But now there was something worse than Dimity in a lime green tracksuit waiting for her there:

An empty house.

An empty house with spare rooms and a roof terrace where once Pippa Pentangle had paced in Hecate’s favourite jumper and pelted her with olives. With a lonely, too-big bed where once she had spread Pippa out onto the mattress and felt her come apart beneath her hands. Where the next morning, Pippa had looked across the bed at her with nervous, seeking eyes as she asked Hecate whether she meant anything more than a dream to her.

_ That is not what I meant at all; _

_ That is not it, at all. _

She looked over at where Julie and Dimity were dancing, at where Algie was coaxing Gwen away from the table, supporting her weight on his shoulder and gazing down into her face as though he could see the whole world there. And as she looked, Hecate felt a terrible, weary loneliness lodge in her ribs and settle in her like a lead weight as she realised just how out of place she was now in their group. And so, shrugging on her jacket, she slipped out and away, pausing only to thank Maria quietly as she left.

* * *

The night air was cool and bracing on her face, and in a fit of uncharacteristic pique Hecate left her umbrella in her bag, digging her hands into her coat pockets. With her hair pulled tightly away from her face, she was able to tilt her head up towards the falling rain, until drops ran down her cheeks like tears. Her hair had been wild and loose and long on the front pages of tabloids, her eyes widened in the flash of their cameras;  _ Pippa Pentangle’s tall dark stranger. _

_ _ Well, as monikers went, she supposed it could have been worse.

And then her front door was looming large in front of her, deep blue and terrible. The house with the blue door in Notting Hill, with its anonymity and its new, awful half-fame. She fumbled in her bag for her keys, slotting them in the door after a few abortive tries, her fingers still clumsy from the few glasses of wine she had accepted before she left. But then she was in her hallway. One of them (Dimity, realistically) had left a landing window open, and there was a fine dusting of rain on the floor, glistening in the light from the streetlamp outside. She didn’t bother switching on the landing light – there was enough for her to make her way up the stairs, take down her hair and take off her make-up, and climb in between her sheets, where she could sleep and not dream of Pippa Pentangle.

She dreamt of Pippa Pentangle.

She dreamt that she was floating in a wide ocean, poised in blue, her limbs were slow and heavy. Hecate could see at a distant point a tangle of blonde hair, floating like seaweed; thought perhaps that if she called out that Pippa would rise to the surface and smile at her. But as soon as she opened her mouth she sank fast, water rushing past her and filling her lungs, her hair dragging her down and down…

_ I should have been a pair of ragged claws _

_ Scuttling along the floors of silent seas… _

When Hecate woke it was with a start, her heart pounding and her mouth dry, and a faint headache knocking at her skull. It was already light outside – earlier than she would normally rise, but there did not seem much point in trying to go back to sleep. She groaned to the empty room, swinging her legs out of bed and pulling on her dressing gown. The house was quiet as she padded through her landing and down the steps to her kitchen – not that Dimity was a particularly early riser, but the absence of her jacket in the hallway made her think that Dimity must have stayed over at Julie’s.

She took her morning coffee out onto the roof, walking over to the edge and peering out at the city below. Men and women in black and grey suits were leaving their houses and flats and swarming out into the streets like beetles, converging in a dark mass down the steps of the underground where they would jettison towards the glass towers of Canary Wharf. Soon the hawkers and traders would return from wholesalers and set up on the Portobello Road, and then after them the ordinary commuters and then the coffee-shop-new-mothers would mill around the streets and parks with Keep-Cups and smartphones, discussing petty crime and gentrification and the latest BBC drama.

‘Decisions and revisions.’ Hecate murmured quietly, to no one in particular. ‘Which a minute will reverse.’ And having made up her mind, she got out her phone, scrolling through her contacts for the right number. It took a few rings, but eventually there was the  _ click  _ of her call being received.

‘Miss Hardbroom?’ Sybil’s voice was thick and sleepy, laced with a growing panic. ‘What’s the time? I haven’t overslept, have I?’

‘No – no, I’m sorry.’ Hecate ran a hand through her hair. ‘I forgot it was so early. Sybil, I’m afraid I won’t be coming into the shop today. I’m…rather unwell.’ She flushed at the lie, even as it fell easily off her tongue, but Sybil did not seem troubled.

‘Oh, poor you. Do you still want me to come in?’ Hecate frowned, considering her question. It seemed unfair to deprive Sybil of what would have been an entire Saturday’s pay because of what was either a moment of unbridled romanticism or alternately a nervous breakdown.

‘We have a new shipment coming in from ‘Amulet House’. You can do an hour’s stocktaking and I’ll pay you for the day.’

‘Really?’ Sybil sounded relieved. ‘Thanks so much, Miss Hardbroom. Hope you feel better soon.

Hecate hesitated, gnawing at her lip. Eventually she replied, her voice soft:

‘Thank you, Sybil. I hope so too.’

And so now committed to a course of action by her lie, she put on a shirt and trousers, bundled her hair back, (she would not bother with makeup, somewhere her pride forbade it) and left the house, double-locking the door behind her for good measure. She walked to Ladbroke Grove Station, where she took the Hammersmith and City Line to Great Portland Street, and then the number ‘88’ bus, on which she stood for twenty minutes until she could see the rolling hills and greens of Hampstead Heath. 

It did not take long to find the set. There must have been hundreds of people, some in costume but most in black, running around talking angrily into Walkie-Talkies or lounging under canopies in director’s chairs, an occasional yell of ‘Quiet please!’ all that broke the cacophony. Hecate approached the barrier separating the world of the film from the members of the public, only to be approached by a rather dour looking security guard, who looked at Hecate with the strained politeness of one whose civility was maintained only under contractual obligation.

‘Can I help you at all?’

‘Yes.’ Hecate shifted her bag on her shoulder awkwardly, conscious of how out of place she seemed. ‘I was looking for Pippa Pentangle.’ The security woman checked her clipboard, her expression sceptical.

‘Does she know you’re coming?’

‘Er – well, no.’ Hecate felt herself redden, as it dawned on her how she must appear – a star-struck woman in her thirties following Pippa Pentangle onto a film set. ‘No, she doesn’t.’ The security guard grimaced in feigned apology.

‘I’m afraid I can’t really let you through then, ma’am.’

Hecate knew she was probably scarlet by now, and felt the need to clarify herself, to save what little of her dignity was left. ‘No, of course. I am a friend, not a lunatic, but…’ She trailed off, seeing it was hopeless. ‘No, you basically…’

‘Can’t let you through ma’am.’ The other woman was only half listening to her, a hand to her headset, and Hecate accepted defeat, inwardly berating whatever stupid, romantic impulse had brought her here.

And then not ten metres away a trailer door opened, and Pippa Pentangle stepped out, surrounded by aides and costume assistants and runners who flocked around her like pecking hens, one holding an umbrella over her head.

At the sight of her, Hecate knew what an awful mistake this had been. After all this time, it appeared Hecate was still not immune to the aura of almost unearthly beauty that surrounded Pippa. And yet it was different; this time Hecate’s eyes followed the line of her shoulder and the curve of her waist and remembered how soft her skin had been, how those fingers had mapped her own body and those lips mouthed against her neck. Hecate couldn’t help it; she filled her eyes with her, taking in every inch of Pippa as though she had been physically starved of her. She was wearing the same pink crinoline she had been wearing in the Instagram photo, and she was frowning slightly, looking up and across the heath – and then directly at Hecate.

Hecate had never seen someone do a physical double take before. Pippa’s eyes widened, her face turning white and then pink in quick succession. She stood stock still, emotions flitting across her eyes too swiftly for Hecate to name them – and then she was walking towards her, as though in a dream, not seeming to notice the confusion of her entourage, or the sudden screech of a moving set as it swerved and stopped to avoid her. One of the more harried-looking assistants was tugging at Pippa’s sleeve, her lips not ceasing to move as she attempted to steer Pippa away – but Pippa brushed her off, not stopping until she couldn’t have been much more than a metre away from Hecate. 

Meanwhile, Hecate’s heart was beating faster and faster as Pippa approached, her mouth dry as she raised a hand to give an awkward wave, thought better of it and then dropped it awkwardly by her side. As for Pippa, once she reached Hecate, stopping just over a metre in front of her, she seemed uncertain of how to proceed. Twice she opened her mouth as if to speak, before finally offering Hecate a nervous half-smile.

‘Well this is certainly…’ She trailed off. ‘Ah…’ Hecate cut in, her voice overlapping with Pippa’s as they both blurted their explanations:

‘I only found out you were here yesterday...’

‘I was going to ring…’

Pippa smiled then, self-consciously. ‘I was, you know. But then I didn’t think you would want…’

‘Pippa.’ The assistant who had been tugging on Pippa’s arm interrupted, and irritation flashed briefly over Pippa’s eyes as she turned her head.

‘One moment.’ She said, sharply, before turning back to Hecate. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just - it’s not going very well, and it’s our last day.’

‘Absolutely.’ Hecate tried to sound indifferent, even as her heart sank. ‘You’re clearly very busy…’

‘No.’ Pippa interrupted urgently, reaching out to grip Hecate’s wrist. Hecate looked down at her hand in surprise. There was a note of distress in Pippa’s voice that Hecate could not quite place – as though that were not it, as though that were not what she meant at all. She tried again, the flock of assistants around her growing all the more restless. Finally, she sighed in frustration. ‘If you – if you could wait….’ She trailed off. ‘There are things to say.’

Hecate nodded, abandoning her attempt at nonchalance. The thought of talking uninterrupted with Pippa once more – of clearing the air and ironing things out between the two of them, of talking until that last morning they spent together, that morning that played over and over in Hecate’s head, could be banished to a dark corner of her mind like a bad dream – it filled her with hope so irrepressible that for once her natural pessimism seemed unable to squash it.

‘Okay.’ She replied, unable to think of anything else she could say that would not betray the sudden soaring of her heart to Pippa. But Pippa’s face relaxed with her relieved smile, and she squeezed Hecate’s forearm before releasing her and succumbing to the attentions of her assistants, who were by now physically dragging her towards the set.

‘Drink tea.’ She managed to call out, before becoming submerged in the sea of crew members. ‘There’s lots of tea!’ Hecate couldn’t help but smile at that, even as Pippa’s face disappeared from view and she realised she must be grinning foolishly into the empty space where she had been. But before she could begin to wonder where she should go to wait, she was approached by a woman with a buzz cut and a pencil behind her ear, who was giving her a rather knowing look.

‘Hey.’ She jerked her head, motioning Hecate towards the house. ‘Come and have a look. Are you a fan of Virginia Woolf?’

‘This is a Virginia Woolf film?’ Hecate asked her in surprise, as a set of actors in colonialist era white suits meandered across to a table with hot water dispensers and ‘Twixes.’ Surely Pippa had not remembered their conversation on top of the roof.

‘Yeah, just – hey Harry, can this lady listen in on the scene?’ An elderly gentleman with a large pair of headphones turned and beamed at them – whether he recognised Hecate from her brief stint on the front pages of various tabloids, she could not say.

‘Sure, sure.’ He waved Hecate over, and she took a seat next to him, nervous. There appeared to be a great many complicated wires, all with equally baffling labels, whilst in front of them cranes and crowds of extras moved ominously. Pippa was somewhere in the distance with what might have been eight different cameras trained to capture different angles of her face - but from what Hecate could tell she appeared relaxed, drinking from a bottle of water as her scene partner, an elderly woman Hecate recognised from various costume dramas she had watched with Gwen over the years, smoked a long cigarette.

‘Here.’ Harry handed over another set of ridiculously oversized headphones. ‘Volume control’s on the side.’

‘That’s great, thank you.’ Hecate offered a quick smile, putting on the headphones and gasping as the older woman’s voice was broadcast into her ear.

‘We are living in cloud-cuckoo-land – we’ll never get this done today.’ Her voice was contemptuous, regarding the aides running around them with disdain. Hecate could see Pippa frowning at the older actress.

‘We have to. I’ve got to be in New York by Thursday.’

‘Oh, stop showing off.’ The other woman’s attention appeared to wander, and when she spoke next it was with the well-practised air of someone used to being deliberately provocative, as she looked across at one of the other younger actresses, who was chatting to some children dressed up in sailor suits.

‘God, that’s an enormous arse.’

‘I’m not listening.’ Pippa’s voice was flat, but Hecate recognised a growing edge. Clearly this woman had been needling at her for a while now.

‘No, seriously.’ She lolled against a wall, looking at Pippa from beneath her lashes in a way that made Hecate clench her fists involuntarily. ‘So many women paying millions in Brazil to have even a third of what she has, you would think she might consider sharing the wealth a little.’

‘I said, I’m not listening.’ Pippa replied, and Hecate thought that the tetchiness in her tone must be apparent even to the other actress – but before the offending woman could open her mouth to say anything else disingenuously irritating, Pippa cut in with: ‘And if you ask me, looking at someone as nice as Rosalia, you and your droopy little excuse for a behind would be well-advised to keep quiet.’

Hecate snorted with laughter as the other actress’s mouth fell open with outrage, her rising indignation clearly competing with what must be certain knowledge of the idiocy of falling out with Pippa Pentangle. Pippa for her part was busying herself with her script, her forehead once more pinched in a frown.

‘Right.’ Pippa said, concentrating. ‘So, I say: “O’ that our human pain could here have ending!” And then you say…’

‘That’s done it.’ The line was delivered through gritted teeth, but Pippa gave every appearance of not noticing.

‘That’s done it, right.’ The two of them fell silent, until the older woman’s expression changed, and she sidled up to Pippa, her tone sly as she inquired:

‘So, who was that rather diffident looking woman you were talking to the way up?’ Hecate tensed, but Pippa’s countenance remained unchanging as she replied:

‘Oh, no one. Just some woman from the past.’ Pippa puffed out her cheeks, looking at the other woman in apparent self-deprecation. ‘I really don’t know what she’s doing here. It’s a bit of an awkward situation...’

Hecate took off the headphones before she could hear any more, her throat suddenly feeling impossibly tight as the floor once again, for one last time in her ridiculous, absurdly painful relationship with Pippa Pentangle, seemed to lurch from beneath her. She frowned, determined not to shake – or worse, cry.

‘Of course.’ She said to herself, her voice quiet but firm. This should not be a surprise. Pippa had shown her no less than two times previously that this was how she thought of Hecate – the only surprising thing was how long it had taken Hecate to get the message. How long it had taken her to realise that she was only getting in the other woman’s way.

Hecate removed the headphones, putting them down gently on the table and looking up in cool gratitude to the sound director.

‘Thank you.’ He smiled at her, turning away from the scene and holding out his hand.

‘Any time.’ She shook his hand, disengaging quickly and then turning on her heel, walking through a pink-flowering canopy and brushing away early blossoms from her hair with angry, twitching fingers, her stride brisk and long as she put more and more distance between herself and Pippa Pentangle.

* * *

It should not hurt again. It should not feel as though her rib cage had split in two, as though her bloody, bruised heart had been plucked from her chest and ground into the dirt of the Heath. She should not be struggling to find her way home through the descending cloud of misery, missing bus stops and tube stations with the ringing in her ears and tears that pricked hot and horrible at the corners of her eyes. This was a confirmation of what she had already known. There was nothing extraordinary in what had happened to her today. It should not hurt.  _ It should not hurt _ .

It took her a good while longer than it should have, but Hecate made it home, walking past the park Pippa had dared her to break into, and her empty bookshop, and the street corner where she had spilled hot tea down Pippa’s blouse. And with each place, feelings of anger at Pippa, at all the people last night who had looked at her and silently (or not so silently) pleaded with her to give Pippa another chance, at  _ herself  _ for being foolish enough to believe them, seemed to grow and well within her, and she knitted her face into a scowl, turning her head from Charlie as he waved at her from across the street.

All she wanted was to go home, run herself a bath and never think about Pippa Pentangle ever again.

She marched up the steps, still lost in thought, and almost tripped over two people sat on her doorstep.

‘ _ Jesus Christ. _ ’

‘Hecate!’

‘Hecate are you okay?’

Julie and Dimity got to their feet, both looking at her expression with varying degrees of alarm. 

‘Sorry, I forgot my key - again.’ Dimity explained, her forehead creasing with growing anxiety. ‘I went to the bookshop, but Sybil said you weren’t well, and then you weren’t answering your phone…’

‘We were so worried!’ Julie interjected. ‘Hecate, please don’t disappear on us like that…’

‘I’m a grown woman, aren’t I?’ Hecate snapped, not caring as Julie flinched, and Dimity looked even unhappier. ‘I would like to think that I can leave my own house without having to check in with minders every five minutes.’ She turned to Dimity. ‘Next time you forget your key, you can sleep in the garden. Perhaps that will teach you.’

‘Hecate, I didn’t mean…’ Hecate didn’t wait for her reply. She unlocked the front door, almost tripping over a copy of  _ The Evening Standard  _ with headlines proclaiming _ : Awards Glory for Pippa Pentangle! _

‘For God’s sake!’ Hecate exploded, picking up the paper and hurling it down the steps. ‘I’m cancelling our subscription.’

‘To  _ The Standard _ ?’ Julie looked bemused. ‘I think Dimity got it off the bus.’

‘Well, she shouldn’t have. I’m cancelling  _ The Guardian  _ too – nothing but stupid gossip and fawning over celebrities.’ Ignoring the look of realisation being exchanged between Julie and Dimity, Hecate stomped further into the house, into the living room, almost flying headfirst over a discarded hockey stick.

‘Sorry!’ Dimity cringed, catching her by her elbows before she could fall. Hecate shook her off angrily.

‘I’m having a clear out.’ She announced, as Julie and Dimity trailed behind her.

‘A clear out?’ Julie asked, bewildered. ‘What could you possibly have that needs clearing out? You live like a postulant.’ Hecate didn’t answer her. She retrieved a cardboard box from a corner that had previously housed a collection of hockey balls and went to their shelves. Her face set like stone, she began to systematically pull out DVDs, glancing at the cover and at the credits and hurling them into the box if there was so much as a nod to Pippa Pentangle.

‘Hey!’ Dimity protested. ‘You can’t bin these, they’re my personal collection! Hecate can we at least talk…’ 

Hecate spun around, her eyes wide with rage.

‘Alright, then.’ She interrupted, her voice quiet, cold fury simmering beneath. ‘Let’s talk. Let’s talk about rent, and how you’re three months behind. Let’s talk about how you opened your mouth to that two-faced ex of yours whom you so desperately wanted to impress, and who sent the entirety of the British paparazzi to our house. Let’s talk about you have cluttered up my hallways for over two years with equipment for sports that no one is ever going to ask you to play again, without asking and without any apparent intention of finding your own flat, and how you  _ never take your fucking keys…’ _

‘Hecate stop it!’ Julie snatched the box from her hands, her own eyes now bright with angry tears. ‘Just  _ stop it.’ _

‘Jules, leave it.’ Dimity’s face was red, her throat working hard as she stared at the ground. Hecate ignored her, making to grab the box back from Julie – and Julie flung it to one side, grabbing Hecate’s elbow and forcing her to meet her eye.

Any retort or cruel word she had at her lips faded and died upon looking at Julie’s face, concerned for Hecate even in her anger. She pressed her lips together, horrified as she felt tears which she had stifled all the way home fall hot down her cheeks in quick succession, a sob breaking out past her lips before she could bring a shaking hand to cover her mouth. She could see Julie’s anger melt at the sight of her, at the juddering heave of her shoulders as she tried in vain to tamp down on her sobs, wrapping an arm across her front as though that could somehow suppress them. 

Hecate wasn’t sure Julie had ever seen her cry, wasn’t sure how either woman would react after the nastiness she had just extended to Dimity, and she made to leave, blindly.

But Julie’s hold on her elbow only tightened. She felt a secure, comforting arm wrap around her waist, and then she was being steered across the room until she was sat on the sofa, barely cognisant of her surroundings. Hecate could feel Julie’s embrace tight around her, felt Dimity come to sit on her other side until she was sandwiched between the two of them, and Hecate gave up on what remained of her dignity. She buried her face in Julie’s shirt, crying miserably into the crook between her neck and shoulder, gulping and shivering helplessly. Dimity’s arms were protective, and Hecate reached out to grip at her forearm, to ground herself in the presence of the two women next to her, to make this real and the scene that had played out earlier nothing but a fantasy.

Because this could not be happening. Her heart could not possibly be breaking again, not again, not because a woman who barely gave her a passing thought had somehow filled her entire being to the brim with love and longing, until she could not walk or talk or  _ breathe  _ without thinking of her.  _ Make it stop _ . She wanted to cry.  _ Make it stop hurting, let me go on with my life and be content with what I had before I met her. _

She gripped Dimity’s arm tighter, and the two women moved closer around her, and as she wept she blurred her thoughts beneath her sobs, until she could almost convince herself that she was not thinking of anything anymore.

That night, she dreamt of Pippa again.

She dreamt that Pippa was coming towards her, golden haired and smiling, barefoot in long grass. She had no clothes, only armfuls of flowers of every shade of pink, from deep dusky rose to a delicate blush. She came close, until Hecate could see her reflection in Pippa’s eyes, and then stopped short, offering her bouquet to Hecate. But Hecate’s arms were rigid by her side, her eyes unmoving, unresponsive; her lips cold and pressed into a thin line, her mouth not opening as Pippa’s smile drooped and her eyes filled with tears, and the flowers in her arms wilted and rotted and blew away, blinding Hecate, filling her nose and eyes and mouth until she woke, again with a pounding heart, this time on her sofa with a blanket laid over her and a glass of water set on the coffee table. And as she caught her breath, it was not ‘Prufrock’ she thought of.

“ _ You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; _

_ They called me the Hyacinth girl...” _

Hecate shook her head, sitting up on the sofa and running a hand through her tangled hair. Whatever happened next, however things continued, once thing was certain. She had shed her last tear for Pippa Pentangle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, over to Nike for the penultimate chapter...thank you so much to everyone who's left such lovely comments


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